THE  HAPPY 


'I 


,^^ 


,  ..jiiriMBBfe:-' 


.'^\ 


l^AND   WHITLOCK 


ALVMNVS  BOOK  FVND 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 


THE 
HAPPY  AVERAGE 

BRAND  WHITLOCK 

Author  of  "The  13th  District" 
* « Her  Infinite  Variety'  * 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1904 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


October 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


TO 
ELIAS  D.  WHITLOCK 


412093 


CONTENTS 

I    A  Young  Man's  Fancy  l 

II    Wade  Powell  i6 

III  Greenwood  Lake  33 

IV  Moonlight  43 
V    The  Serenade  $6 

VI    Love's  Arrears  72 

VII    An  Unnecessary  Opposition  86 

VIII    A  Judicial  Decision  93 

IX    A  Filial  Rebuke  102 

X    Put  In  Bay  113 

XI    Macochee  122 

XII    A  Conditional  Surrender  132 

XIII  Summer  137 

XIV  One  Sunday  Morning  143 
XV    A  Saint's  Advice  151 

XVI    Love  and  a  Living  160 

XVII    The  County  Fair  174 

XVIII    The  Road  to  Mingo  187 

XIX    Waking  I99 

XX    Heart  of  Grace  210 

XXI    Christmas  Eve  218 

XXII    An  Advertisement  op  Destiny  229 


XXIII  The  Break  237 

XXIV  The  Gates  of  the  City  249 
XXV  Letters  Home  256 

XXVI  The  Army  of  the  Unemployed  266 

XXVII  A  Foothold  280 

XXVIII  The  Talk  of  the  Town  287 

XXIX  A  Man  of  Letters  295 

XXX  Home  Again  309 

XXXI  Illusions  and  Disillusions  325 

XXXII  At  Last  337 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 


THE    HAPPY   AVERAGE 


CHAPTEE  I 


A    YOUNG    MAN  S    FANCY 


"Come  on,  old  man." 

Lawrence  led  the  way  with  a  jaunty  step  that 
was  intended  to  show  his  easy  footing  with  the 
Carters.  But  Marley  lagged  behind.  Even  if  call- 
ing on  girls  had  not  been  such  a  serious  business 
with  him,  he  could  not  forget  that  he  was  just  grad- 
uated from  college  and  that  a  certain  dignity  befit- 
ted him.  He  wished  Lawrence  would  not  speak  so 
loud;  the  girls  might  hear,  and  think  he  was 
afraid;  he  wished  to  keep  the  truth  from  them  as 
long  as  possible.  He  had  already  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  girls,  or  thought  he  had,  but  before  he  could 
make  sure,  the  vague  white  figures  on  the  veranda 


stirred;  he  heard  a  scurrying,  and  the  loose  bang 
of  a  screen  door.  Then  it  was  still.  Lawrence 
laughed — somehow,   as  Marley  felt,   derisively. 

The  way  from  the  sidewalk  up  to  the  Carters' 
veranda  was  not  long,  of  course,  though  it  seemed 
long  to  Marley,  and  Marley's  deliberation  made 
it  seem  long  to  Lawrence.  They  paused  at  the 
steps  of  the  veranda,  and  Lawrence  made  a  low 
bow. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Carter,"  he  said.  "Ah, 
Captain,  you  here  too  ?" 

Marley  had  not  noticed  the  captain,  or  Mrs. 
Carter;  they  sat  there  so  quietly,  enjoying  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  or  such  cool  as  a  July  evening 
can  find  in  central  Ohio. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  Marley,  Mrs.  Carter — Glenn 
Marley — ^you've  heard  of  him.  Captain.'' 

Marley  bowed  and  said  something.  The  presen- 
tation there  in  the  darkness  made  it  rather  difficult 
for  him,  and  neither  the  captain  nor  his  wife 
moved.  Lawrence  sat  down  on  the  steps  and 
fanned  himself  with  his  hat 

"Been  a  hot  day.  Captain,"  he  said.  "Think 
there's  any  sign  of  rain?"     He  sniffed  the  air. 


A  YOUNG  MAIL'S  FANCY 

The  captain  did  not  need  to  sniff  the  air  to  be  able 
to  reply,  in  a  voice  that  rumbled  np  from  his 
bending  figure,  that  he  had  no  hope  of  any. 

"Mayme's  home,  ain^t  she?'^  asked  Lawrence, 
turning  to  Mrs.  Carter. 

"I'll  go  see,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  and  she  rose 
quickly,  as  if  glad  to  get  away,  and  the  screen 
door  slammed  again. 

"Billy  was  in  the  bank  to-day,''  Lawrence  went 
on,  speaking  to  Captain  Carter.  "He  said  your 
wheat  was  ready  to  cut.  Did  you  get  Foose  all 
right?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  captain,  "he'll  give  me  next 
week." 

"Do  you  have  to  board  the  threshers?" 

"No,  not  this  year;  they  bring  along  their  own 
cook,  and  a  tent  and  everything." 

" Je-rusalem !"  exclaimed  Lawrence.  "Things 
are  changing  in  these  days,  ain't  they?  Harvest- 
ing ain't  as  hard  on  the  women-folks  as  it  used 
to  be." 

"No,"  said  the  captain,  "but  I  pay  for  it,  so 
much  extra  a  bushel." 

His  head  shook  regretfully,  but  lie  would  have 

3 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

lost  his  regrets  in  telling  of  the  time  when  he  had 
swung  a  cradle  all  day  in  the  harvest  field,  had 
not  Mrs.  Carter's  voice  just  then  been  heard  call- 
ing up  the  stairs : 

"Mayme!" 

"Whoo !''  answered  a  high,  feminine  voice. 

"Come  down.     There's  some  one  here  to  see 

you." 

Mrs.  Carter  turned  into  the  parlor,  and  the  tall 
windows  that  opened  to  the  floor  of  the  veranda 
burst  into  light. 

"She'll  be  right  down,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Car- 
ter, appearing  in  the  door.  "You  give  me  your 
hats  and  go  right  in." 

"All  right,"  said  Lawrence,  and  he  got  to  his 
feet.     "Come  on,  Glenn." 

Mrs.  Carter  took  the  hats  of  the  young  men 
and  hung  them  on  the  rack,  where  they  might 
easily  have  hung  them  themselves.  Then  she 
went  back  to  the  veranda,  letting  the  screen  door 
bang  behind  her,  and  Lawrence  and  Marley  en- 
tered the  parlor.  Marley  took  his  seat  on  one  of 
the  haircloth  chairs  that  seemed  to  have  ranged 
themselves  permanently  along  the  walls^  and  Law- 


A  YOUNG  MAK'S  FANCY 

rence  went  to  the  square  piano  that  stood  across 
one  corner  of  the  room,  and  sat  down  tentatively 
on  the  stool,  swinging  from  side  to  side. 

Marlej  glanced  at  the  pictures  on  the  walls. 
One  of  them  was  a  steel  engraving  of  Lincoln  and 
his  cabinet;  another,  in  a  black  oval  frame,  por- 
trayed Captain  Carter  in  uniform,  his  hair  dust- 
ing the  strapped  shoulders  of  a  coat  made  after 
the  pattern  that  seems  to  have  been  worn  so  un- 
comfortably by  the  heroes  of  the  Civil  War.  There 
was,  however,  a  later  picture  of  the  captain,  a  cray- 
on enlargement  of  a  photograph,  that  had  taken 
him  in  civilian  garb.  This  picture,  in  its  huge 
gilt  frame,  was  the  most  aggressive  thing  in  the 
room,  except,  possibly,  the  walnut  what-not.  Mar- 
ley  had  a  great  fear  of  the  what-not;  it  seemed 
to  him  that  if  he  stirred  he  must  topple  it  over, 
and  dash  its  load  of  trinkets  to  the  floor. 
Presently  he  heard  the  swish  of  skirts.  Then  a 
tall  girl  came  in,  and  Lawrence  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

"Hello,  Mayme.  What'd  you  run  for?"  he 
said. 

He  had  crossed  the  room  and  seized  the  girFs 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

hand.  She  flashed  a  rebuke  at  him,  though  it 
was  evident  that  the  rebuke  was  more  out  of  def- 
erence to  the  strange  presence  of  Marley  than  for 
any  real  resentment  she  felt. 

"This  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Marley,  Miss  Carter," 
Lawrence  said.    "You've  heard  me  speak  of  him." 

Marley  edged  away  from  the  what-not,  rose  and 
took  the  hand  the  girl  gave  him.  Then  Miss  Car- 
ter crossed  to  the  black  haircloth  sofa  and  seated 
herself,  smoothing  out  her  skirts. 

"Didn't  know  what  to  do,  so  we  thought  we'd 
come  out  and  see  you,"  said  Lawrence. 

"Oh,  indeed!"  said  Miss  Carter.  ''Well,  it's 
too  bad  about  you.  We'll  do  when  you  can't  find 
anybody  else  to  put  up  with  you,  eh  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  you'll  do  in  a  pinch,"  chaffed  Law- 
rence. 

"Well,  can't  you  find  a  comfortable  seat?"  the 
girl  asked,  still  addressing  Lawrence,  who  had 
gone  back  to  the  piano  stool. 

"I'm  going  to  play  in  a  minute,"  said  Law- 
rence, "and  sing." 

"Well,  excuse  me !"  implored  Miss  Carter.  "Do 
let  me  get  you  a  seat." 

6 


A  YOUNG  MAIST'S  FAKCY 

Lawrence  promptly  went  over  to  the  sofa  and 
leaned  back  in  one  comer  of  it,  affecting  a  dis- 
comfort 

"Can't  I  get  you  a  pillow,  Mr.  Lawrence?" 
Miss  Carter  asked  presently.  "Or  perhaps  a  cot; 
I  believe  there's  one  somewhere  in  the  attic." 

"Oh,  I  reckon  I  can  stand  it,"  said  Lawrence. 

Marley  had  regained  his  seat  on  the  edge  of  tbe 
slippery  chair. 

"Where's  Yinie?"  asked  Lawrence. 

"She's  coming,"  answered  Miss  Carter. 

"Taking  out  her  curl  papers,  eh?"  said  Law- 
rence.    "She  needn't  mind  us." 

Miss  Carter  pretended  a  disgust,  but  as  she  was 
framing  a  retort,  somehow,  the  eyes  of  all  of  them 
turned  toward  the  hall  door.  A  girl  in  a  gown  of 
white  stood  there  clasping  and  unclasping  her 
hands  curiously,  and  looking  from  one  to  another 
of  those  in  the  room. 

"Come  in,  Lavinia,"  said  Miss  Carter.  Some- 
thing had  softened  her  voice.  The  girl  stepped 
into  the  room  almost  timidly. 

"Miss  Blair,"  said  Miss  Carter,  "let  me  intro- 
duce Mr.  Marley." 

7 


THE  HAPPY  AVEHAGE 

The  sudden  consciousness  that  he  had  beei^  -sit- 
ting— and  staring — smote  Marley,  and  he  sprang 
to  his  feet.  Embarrassment  overpowered  him  and 
he  bowed  awkwardly.  Lawrence  had  been  silent, 
and  his  silence  had  been  a  long  one  for  him.  Seem- 
ing to  recognize  this  he  hastened  to  say: 
"Well,  how's  the  world  using  you,  Vinie  V^ 
The  girl  smiled  and  answered: 
"Oh,  pretty  well,  thank  you.  Jack." 
It  grated  on  Marley  to  hear  her  called  Vinie. 
Lavinia  Blair !  Lavinia  Blair !  That  was  her 
name.  He  had  heard  it  before,  of  course,  yet  it 
had  never  sounded  as  it  did  now  when  he  repeated 
it  to  himself.  The  girl  had  seated  herself  in  a 
rocking-chair  across  the  room,  almost  out  of  range, 
as  it  were.  He  was  rather  glad  of  this,  if  any- 
thing. It  seemed  to  relieve  him  of  the  duty  of 
talking  to  her.  He  supposed,  of  course,  they 
would  pair  off  somehow.  The  young  people  always 
did  in  Macochee.  He  supposed  he  had  been 
brought  there  to  pair  off  with  Lavinia  Blair.  He 
liked  the  thought,  yet  the  position  had  its  respon- 
sibilities. Somehow  he  never  could  forget  that  he 
could  not  dance.     He  hoped  they  would  not  pro- 

8 


A  YOUNG  MAJsr^S  FANCY 

pose  dancing.  He  always  had  a  fear  of  that  in 
making  calls,  and  all  the  calls  he  made  seemed 
to  come  to  it  soon  or  late;  some  one  always  pro- 
posed it. 

Marley  was  aware  that  Lawrence  and  Mayme 
Carter  had  resumed  the  exchange  of  their  rnde 
repartee,  though  he  did  not  know  what  they  had. 
said.  They  kept  laughing,  too.  Lavinia  Blair 
seemed  to  join  in  the  laughter  if  not  in  the  badi- 
nage. Marley  wished  he  might  join  in  it.  Jack 
Lawrence  was  evidently  funnier  than  ever  that 
night;  Mayme  Carter  was  convulsed.  Now  and 
then  Lawrence  said  something  to  her  in  a  tone  too 
low  for  the  others  to  hear,  and  these  remarks 
pushed  her  to  the  verge  of  hysterics.  Marley  had 
a  notion  they  were  laughing  at  him. 

Meanwhile  Lavinia  Blair  sat  with  her  hands 
in  her  lap,  smiling  as  though  she  were  amused. 
Marley  wondered  if  he  amused  her.  He  felt  that 
he  ought  to  say  something,  but  he  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  He  thought  of  several  things,  but,  as 
he  turned  them  over  in  his  mind,  he  was  con- 
vinced that  they  were  not  appropriate.  So  he  sat 
and  looked  at  Lavinia  Blair,  looked  at  her  eyes,  her 

9 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

mouth,  her  hair.     He  thought  he  had  never  seen 
such  a  complexion. 

Mayme  Carter  had  snatched  her  handkerchief 
back  from  Lawrence,  and  retreated  to  her  end 
of  the  sofa.  There  she  sat  up  stiffly,  folded  her 
hands,  and,  though  her  mirth  still  shook  her  spas- 
modically, she  said: 

"ISTow,  Jack,  behave  yourself." 
Lawrence  burlesqued  a  surprise,  and  said : 
"I'll  leave  it  to  Vine  if  I've  done  anything." 
Marley  wondered  how  much  further  abbreviation 
Lavinia  Blair's  name  would  stand,  but  he  was  sud- 
denly aware  that  he  was  being  addressed.     Miss 
Carter,    with    an    air    of    dismissing    Lawrence, 
said: 

"You  have  not  been  in  Macochee  long,  have 
you,  Mr.  Marley?" 

Marley  admitted  that  he  had  not,  but  said  that 
he  liked  the  town.  When  Lawrence  explained 
that  Marley  was  going  to  settle  down  there  and 
become  one  of  them.  Miss  Carter  said  she  was 
awfully  glad,  but  warned  him  against  associating 
too  much  with  Lawrence.  This  embarrassed  Mar- 
ley, if  it  did  not  Lawrence,  and  he  immediately 

10 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  FANCY 

gave  the  scene  to  Lawrence,  who  guessed  he  would 
sing  his  song.  To  do  so  he  went  to  the  piano,  and 
began  to  pick  over  the  frayed  sheets  of  music  that 
lay  on  its  green  cover.  To  forestall  him,  however. 
Miss  Carter  rushed  across  the  room  and  slid  on  to 
the  piano  stool  herself,  saying  breathlessly; 

"Anything  to  stop  that !" 

She  struck  a  few  vagrant  chords,  and  Marley, 
glad  of  a  subject  on  which  he  could  express  him- 
self, pleaded  with  her  to  play.  At  last  she  did  so. 
When  she  had  finished,  Lawrence  clapped  his 
hands  loudly,  and  stopped  only  when  a  voice 
startled  them.  It  was  Mrs.  Carter  calling  through 
the  window : 

"Play  your  new  piece,  Mayme !'' 

Miss  Carter  demurred,  but  after  they  had  ar- 
gued the  question  through  the  window,  the  daugh- 
ter gave  in,  and  played  it.  The  music  soothed 
Lawrence  to  silence,  and  when  Miss  Carter  com- 
pleted her  little  repertoire,  his  mockery  could  re- 
cover itself  no  further  than  to  say: 

"Won't  you  favor  us,  Miss  Blair?" 

When  Lavinia  Blair  declined,  he  struck  an  im- 
ploring attitude  and  said: 

11 


THE  HAPPY  AYEEAGE 

"Oh,  please  do !  We're  dying  to  hear  you.  You 
didn't  leave  your  music  at  home,  did  you?" 

Marley  heard  the  chairs  scraping  on  the 
veranda,  and  the  screen  door  slammed  once  more. 
Then  he  heard  Captain  Carter  go  up  the  stairs, 
while  Mrs.  Carter  halted  in  the  doorway  of  the 
parlor  long  enough  to  say: 

"You  lock  the  front  door  when  you  come  up, 
Mayme." 

Mayme  without  turning  replied  "All  right," 
and  when  her  mother  had  disappv^ared  she  said : 

"It's  awful  hot  in  here,  let's  go  outside." 

Marley  found  himself  strolling  in  the  yard  with 
Lavinia  Blair.  The  moon  had  not  risen,  but  the 
girl's  throat  and  arms  gleamed  in  the  starlight; 
her  white  dress  seemed  to  be  a  cloud  of  gauze ;  she 
floated,  rather  than  walked,  there  by  his  side. 
They  paused  by  the  gate.  About  them  were  the 
voices  of  the  summer  night,  the  crickets,  the  katy- 
dids, far  away  the  frogs,  chirping  musically.  They 
stood  a  while  in  the  silence,  and  then  they  turned, 
and  were  talking  again. 

Marley  did  most  of  the  talking,  and  all  he 
said  was  about  himself,  though  he  did  not  realize 

12 


A  YOUITG  MAIST'S  FAIN^CY 

that  this  was  so.  He  had  already  told  her  of 
his  life  in  the  towns  where  his  father  had  preached 
before  he  came  to  Macochee,  and  of  his  four  years 
in  college  at  Delaware.  Hef  tried  to  give  her  some 
notion  of  the  sense  of  alienation  he  had  felt  as  the 
son  of  an  itinerant  Methodist  minister;  for  him 
no  place  had  ever  taken  on  the  warm  color  and  ex- 
pression of  home.  He  explained  that  as  yet 
he  knew  little  of  Macochee,  having  been  away  at 
college  when  his  father  moved  there  the  preceding 
fall.  It  was  so  easy  to  talk  to  her,  and  as  he  told 
her  of  his  ambitions,  the  things  he  was  going  to  do 
became  so  many,  and  so  easy.  He  was  going 
to  become  a  lawyer;  he  thought  he  should  go  to 
Cincinnati. 

"And  leave  Macochee  ?"  said  Lavinia  Blair. 

Marley  caught  his  breath. 

"Would  you  care  ?"  he  whispered. 

She  did  not  answer.  He  heard  the  crickets,  the 
katydids,  the  frogs  again;  there  came  the  per- 
fume of  the  lilacs,  late  flowering  that  year;  the 
heavy  odor  of  a  shrub  almost  overpowered  him. 

"My  father  is  a  lawyer,"  Lavinia  said. 

They  had  turned  off  the  path,  and  were  wander- 

13 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

ing  over  the  lawn.  The  dew  sparkled  on  it;  and 
Marlej  became  solicitous. 

'^ Won't  you  get  your  feet  wet  ?"  he  asked. 

The  girl  laughed  at  the  idea,  but  she  caught  up 
her  skirts,  and  thej  wandered  on  in  the  shade  of 
the  tall  elms.  Marlej  did  not  know  where  they 
were.  The  yard  seemed  an  endless  garden,  im- 
mense, unknown,  enchanted;  the  dark  trees  all 
around  him  stood  like  the  forest  of  some  park,  and 
the  lawn  stretched  away  to  fall  over  endless  ter- 
races; he  imagined  statues  and  fountains  gleam- 
ing in  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  trees.  The  house 
seemed  lost  in  the  distance,  though  he  felt  its  pres- 
ence there  behind  him. 

Once  he  saw  the  twinkle  of  a  passing  light  in 
an  upper  story.  He  could  no  longer  hear  the 
voices  of  Mayme  and  Lawrence,  but  he  caught 
the  tinkling  notes  of  a  banjo,  away  off  somewhere. 
Its  music  was  very  sweet.  They  strolled  on,  their 
feet  swishing  in  the  damp  grass,  then  suddenly 
there  was  a  rush,  a  loud  barking,  and  a  dog  sprang 
at  them  out  of  the  darkness.  Lavinia  gave  a  little 
cry.  Marley  was  startled;  he  felt  that  he  must 
run,  yet  he  tiiought  of  the  girl  beside  him.    He 

I4i 


A  YOUJSTG  MA:N^'S  FAl^CY 

must  not  let  her  see  his  fear.  He  stepped  in  front 
of  her.  He  could  feel  her  draw  more  closely  to 
him,  and  he  thrilled  as  the  sense  of  his  protector- 
ship came  to  him.  He  must  think  of  some  heroic 
scheme  of  vanquishing  the  dog,  but  it  stopped  in 
its  mad  rush,  and  Lavinia,  standing  aside,  said : 

''Why,  it's  only  Sport!'' 

They  laughed,  and  their  laugh  was  the  happier 
because  of  the  relief  from  their  fear. 

"We  must  have  wandered  around  behind  the 
house,"  said  Lavinia.     "There's  the  shed.'^ 

They  turned,  and  went  back.  The  enchant- 
ment of  the  yard  had  departed.  Marley  seemed  to 
see  things  clearly  once  more,  though  his  heart  still 
beat  as  he  felt  the  delicious  sense  of  protectorship 
that  had  come  over  him  as  Lavinia  shrank  to  his 
side  at  the  moment  the  dog  rushed  at  them.  Nor 
could  he  ever  forget  her  face  as  she  smiled  up  at 
him  in  the  little  opening  they  came  into  on  the  side 
lawn.  The  young  moon  was  just  sailing  over  the 
trees.  As  they  approached  the  veranda,  Law- 
rence's voice  called  out  of  the  darkness : 

"Well,  where  have  you  young  folks  been  stealing 
away  to  ?" 

I5i 


CHAPTEE  II 


WADE    POWELL 


Marley  halted  at  the  threshold  and  glanced 
up  at  the  sign  that  swung  over  the  doorway. 
The  gilt  lettering  of  the  sign  had  long  ago 
been  tarnished,  and  where  its  black  sanded 
paint  had  peeled  in  many  weathers  the  orig- 
inal tin  was  as  rusty  as  the  iron  arm  from 
which  it  creaked.  Yet  Macochee  had  long  since 
lost  its  need  of  the  shingle  to  tell  it  where  Wade 
Powell's  law  office  was.  It  had  been  for  many 
years  in  one  of  the  little  rooms  of  the  low  brick 
building  in  Miami  Street,  just  across  from  the 
Court  House;  it  was  almost  as  much  of  an  insti- 
tution as  the  Court  House  itself,  with  which  its 
triumphs  and  its  trials  were  identified.  Marley 
gathered  enough  courage  from  his  inspection  of 
the  sign  to  enter,  but  once  inside,  he  hesitated. 
Then  a  heavy  voice  spoke. 


WADE  POWELL 

"Well,  come  in,"  it  said  peremptorily. 

Wade  Powell,  sitting  with  his  feet  on  his  table, 
held  his  newspaper  aside  and  looked  at  Marley 
over  his  spectacles.  Marley  had  had  an  ideal  of 
Wade  Powell,  and  now  he  had  to  panse  long  enough 
to  relinquish  the  ideal  and  adjust  himself  to  the 
reality.  The  hair  was  as  disordered  as  his  young 
fancy  would  have  had  it,  but  it  was  thinner  than 
he  had  known  it  in  his  dreams,  and  its  black 
was  streaked  with  gray.  The  face  was  smooth- 
shaven,  which  accorded  with  his  notion,  though 
it  had  not  been  shaven  as  recently  as  he  felt  it 
should  have  been.  But  he  could  not  reconcile  him- 
self to  the  spectacles  that  rested  on  Powell's  nose, 
and  pressed  their  bows  into  the  flesh  of  his  temples 
— the  eagle  eyes  of  the  Wade  Powell  of  his  imagi- 
nation had  never  known  glasses. 

When  Wade  Powell  slowly  pulled  his  spec- 
tacles from  his  nose  and  tossed  them  on  to  the 
table  before  him,  he  bent  his  eyes  on  Marley, 
and  their  gaze,  under  their  heavy  brows,  some- 
w^hat  restored  him,  but  it  could  not  atone  for  the 
disappointment.  Perhaps  the  disappointment  that 
Marley  felt  in  this  moment  came  from  some  dim, 

17 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

•unrealized  sense  that  Wade  Powell  was  growing 
old.  The  spectacles,  the  gray  in  his  hair,  the 
wrinkles  in  his  face,  the  looseness  of  the  skin  at 
his  jaws  and  at  his  throat — ^where  a  fold  of  it  hung 
between  the  points  of  his  collar — all  told  that  Wade 
Powell  had  passed  the  invisible  line  which  marks 
life's  summit,  and  that  his  face  was  turned  now 
toward  the  evening.  There  was  the  touch  of  sad- 
ness in  the  indistinct  conception  of  him  as  a  man 
who  had  not  altogether  realized  the  ambitions  of 
his  youth  or  the  predictions  of  his  friends,  and 
the  sadness  came  from  the  intuition  that  the  failure 
or  the  half -failure  was  not  of  the  heroic  kind. 

The  office  in  which  he  sat,  and  on  which,  in 
the  long  years,  he  had  impressed  his  character,  was 
untidy ;  the  floor  was  dirty,  the  books  on  the  shelves 
were  dusty  and  leaning  all  awry;  the  set  of  the 
Ohio  reports  had  not  been  kept  up  to  date;  one 
might  have  told  by  a  study  of  them  at  just  what 
period  enterprise  and  energy  had  faltered,  while 
the  gaps  here  and  there  showed  how  an  uncalculat- 
ing  generosity  had  helped  a  natural  indolence  by 
lending  indiscriminately  to  other  lawyers,  who, 
with  the  lack  of  respect  for  the  moral  of  the  laws 

18 


WADE  POWELL 

thej  pretended  to  revere,  had  borrowed  with  no 
thought  of  returning. 

Two  or  three  pictures  hung  crookedly  on  the 
walls;  the  table  at  which  Powell  sat  was  old  and 
scarred;  its  ink-stand  had  long  ago  gone  dry  and 
been  abandoned ;  a  cheap  bottle,  with  its  cork  roll- 
ing tipsily  by  its  side,  had  taken  the  ink-stand's 
place.  The  papers  scattered  over  the  table  had  an 
air  of  hopelessness,  as  though  they  had  grown 
tired,  like  the  clients  they  represented,  in  waiting 
for  PowelFs  attention.  The  half -open  door  at  the 
back  led  into  a  room  that  had  been,  and  possibly 
might  yet  be,  used  as  a  private  office  or  consult- 
ing room,  should  any  one  care  to  brave  its  dark- 
ness and  its  dust;  but  as  for  Wade  Powell,  it  was 
plain  that  he  preferred  to  sit  democratically  in 
the  outer  office,  where  all  might  see  him,  and,  what 
was  of  more  importance  to  him,  where  he  might 
see  all. 

The  one  new  thing  in  the  room  was  a  typewriter, 
standing  on  its  little  sewing-machine  table,  in  the 
corner  of  the  room.  There  was  no  stenographer 
nor  any  chair  for  one;  Marley  imagined  Powell, 
whenever  he  had  occasion  to  write,  sitting  down 

19 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

to  the  machine  himself,  and  picking  out  his  plead-* 
ings  painfully,  laboriously  and  slowly,  letter  by 
letter,  using  only  his  index  fingers.  And  thia 
somehow  humbled  his  ideal  the  more.  Marley 
almost  wished  he  hadn't  come. 

"What's  on  your  mind,  young  man  ?"  said  Wade 
Powell,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  dropping 
his  long  arm  at  his  side  until  his  newspaper  swept 
the  floor.  Marley  had  seated  himself  in  a  wooden 
chair  that  was  evidently  intended  for  clients,  and 
he  began  nervously. 

"Well,  I—" 

Here  he  stopped,  overcome  again  by  an  embar- 
rassment. A  smile  spread  over  Wade  Powell's  face, 
a  gentle  smile  with  a  winning  quality  in  it,  and 
his  face  to  Marley  became  young  again. 

"Tell  your  troubles,"  he  said.  "I've  confessed 
all  the  young  men  in  Macochee  for  twenty-five 
years.  Yes —  thirty-five — "  He  grew  suddenly 
sober  as  he  numbered  the  years  and  then  exclaimed 
as  if  to  himself: 

"My  God !    Has  it  been  that  long  ?" 

He  took  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it  as  if  it 
must  somehow  correct  his  reckoning.     Eor  a  mo- 

20 


WADE  POWELL 

ment,  then,  he  thought;  his  gaze  was  far  away. 
But  Marley  brought  him  back  when  he  said : 

"I  only  want — I  only  want  to  study  law." 

"Oh !"  said  Powell,  and  he  seemed  somehow  re- 
lieved.   "Is  that  all?" 

To  Marley  this  seemed  quite  enough,  and  the 
disappointment  he  felt,  which  was  a  part  of  the 
effect  Wade  Powell's  office  had  had  on  him,  showed 
suddenly  in  his  face.  Powell  glanced  quickly  at 
him,  and  hastened  to  reassure  him. 

"We  can  fix  that  easily  enough,"  he  said.  "Have 
you  ever  read  any  law  ?" 

"ISTo,"  said  Marley. 

"Been  to  college  ?" 

Marley  told  him  that  he  had  just  that  summer 
been  graduated  and  when  he  mentioned  the  name  of 
the  college  Powell  said: 

"The  Methodists,  eh?" 

He  could  hardly  conceal  a  certain  contempt  in 
the  tone  with  which  he  said  this,  and  then,  as  if 
instantly  regretting  the  unkindness,  he  observed: 

"It's  a  good  school,  I'm  told." 

He  could  not,  however,   evince   an  entire  ap- 


M 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

proval,  and  so  seeming  to  desert  the  subject  he 
hastened  on: 

"What's  your  name  V 

"Glenn  Marley/' 

"Oh!"  Wade  Powell  dropped  his  feet  to  the 
floor  and  sat  upright.  "Are  you  Preacher  Mar- 
ley's  son  ?" 

Marley  did  not  like  to  hear  his  father  called 
"Preacher/'  and  when  he  said  that  he  was  the 
son  of  Doctor  Marlev,  Powell  remarked: 

"Pve  heard  him  preach,  and  he's  a  danm  good 
preacher  too,  I  want  to  tell  you." 

Marley  warmed  under  this  profane  indorsement. 
He  had  always,  from  a  boy,  felt  somehow  that  he 
must  defend  his  father's  position  as  a  preacher 
from  the  world,  as  with  the  little  world  of  his  boy- 
hood and  youth  he  had  always  had  to  defend  his 
own  position  as  the  son  of  a  preacher. 

"Yes,  sir,  he's  a  good  preacher,  and  a  good 
man,"  Powell  went  on.  He  had  taken  a  cigar  from 
his  pocket  and  was  nipping  the  end  from  it  with 
his  teeth.  He  lighted  it,  and  leaned  back  comfort- 
ably again  to  smoke,  and  then  in  tardy  hospitality 


22 


WADE  POWELL 

he  drew  another  cigar  from  his  waistcoat  pocket 
and  held  it  toward  Marie j. 

"Smoke  ?"  he  said,  and  then  he  added  apologetic- 
ally, ''I  didn't  think;  I  never  do." 

Marley  declined  the  cigar,  but  Powell  pressed 
it  on  him,  saying: 

"Well,  your  father  does,  I'll  bet.  Give  it  to  him 
with  Wade  Powell's  compliments.  He  won't  hesi- 
tate to  smoke  with  a  publican  and  sinner." 

Marley  smiled  and  put  the  cigar  away  in  his 
pocket. 

"I  don't  know,  though,"  Powell  went  on  slowly, 
speaking  as  much  to  himself  as  to  Marley,  while 
he  watched  the  thick  white  clouds  he  rolled  from 
his  lips,  "that  he'd  want  you  to  be  in  my  office. 
I  know  some  of  the  brethren  wouldn't  approve. 
They'd  think  I'd  contaminate  you." 

Marley  would  have  hastened  to  reassure  Powell 
had  he  known  how  to  do  so  without  seeming  to 
recognize  the  possibility  of  contamination;  but 
while  he  hesitated  Powell  avoided  the  necessity 
for  him  by  asking: 

"Did  your  father  send  you  to  me  ?" 

He  looked  at  Marley  eagerly,  and  with  an  ex- 

23 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

pression  of  unfounded  hope,  as  he  awaited  the 
answer. 

"No,"  replied  Marlej,  "he  doesn't  know.  I 
haven't  talked  with  him  at  all.  I  have  to  do  some- 
thing and  I've  always  thought  I'd  go  into  the 
law.  I  presume  it  would  be  better  to  go  to  a  law 
school,  but  father  couldn't  afford  that  after  putting 
me  through  college.  I  thought  I  could  read  law 
in  some  office,  and  maybe  get  admitted  that  way." 

"Sure,"  said  Powell,  "it's  easy  enough.  You'll 
have  to  learn  the  law  after  you  get  to  practising 
anyway — and  there  isn't  much  to  learn  at  that.  It's 
mostly  a  fake." 

Marley  looked  at  him  in  some  alarm,  at  this  new 
smiting  of  an  idol. 

"I  began  to  read  law,"  Powell  went  on,  "under 
old  Judge  Colwin — that  is,  what  I  read.  I  used 
to  sit  at  the  window  with  a  book  in  my  lap  and 
watch  the  girls  go  by.  Still,"  he  added  with  a 
tone  of  doing  himself  some  final  justice,  "it  was  a 
liberal  education  to  sit  under  the  old  judge's  drip- 
pings. I  learned  more  that  way  than  I  ever  did  at 
the  law  school." 

He  smoked  on  a  moment,  ruminating  on  his  lost 

24 


WADE  POWELL 

youth;  then,  bringing  himself  around  to  business 
again,  he  said: 

"How'd  you  happen  to  come  to  me?" 

"Well/'  said  Marley,  haltingly,  "I'd  heard  a 
good  deal  of  you — and  I  thought  I'd  like  you,  and 
then  I've  heard  father  speak  of  you." 

"You  have  ?"  said  Powell,  looking  up  quickly. 

"Yes." 

"What'dhesay?" 

"Well,  he  said  you  were  a  great  orator  and  he 
said  you  were  always  with  the  under  dog.  He 
said  he  liked  that." 

Powell  turned  his  eyes  away  and  his  face  red- 
dened. 

"Well,  let's  see.  If  you  think  your  father 
would  approve  of  your  sitting  at  the  feet  of  sucH 
a  Gamaliel  as  I,  we  can — "  He  was  squinting 
painfully  at  his  book-shelves.  "Is  that  Blackstone 
over  there  on  the  top  shelf?" 

Marley  got  up  and  glanced  along  the  backs  of  the 
dingy  books,  their  calfskin  bindings  deeply 
browned  by  the  years,  their  red  and  black  labels 
peeling  off. 


25 


TKE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

"Here^s  Blackstone,"  he  said,  taking  down  i 
book,  '^biit  it's  the  second  volume.'* 

"Second  volume,  eh  ?  Don't  see  the  first  arounc 
anywhere,  do  you?" 

Marley  looked,  without  finding  it. 

"Then  see  if  Walker's  there." 

Marley  looked  again. 

"Walker's  American  Law,^  Powell  explained. 

"I  don't  see  it/'  Marley  said. 

"Xo,  I  reckon  not,"  assented  Powell,  "some  one' 
borrowed  it  I  seem  to  run  a  sort  of  circulatinj 
library  of  legal  works  in  this  town,  without  fines— 
though  we  have  statutes  against  petit  larceny.  Well 
hand  me  Swan's  Treatise,  That's  it,  on  the  en< 
of  the  second  shelf." 

Marley  took  down  the  book,  and  gave  it  t 
Powell.  While  Marley  dusted  his  begrimed  finger 
with  his  handkerchief,  Powell  blew  the  dust  o:l 
the  top  of  the  book;  he  slapped  it  on  the  arm  o 
his  chair,  the  dust  flying  from  it  at  every  stroke 
He  picked  up  his  spectacles,  put  them  on  am 
turned  over  the  first  few  leaves  of  the  book. 

"You  might  begin  on  that,"  he  said  presentl} 
"until  we  can  borrow  a  Blackstone  or  a  Walke 

26 


WADE  POWELL 

for  you.  This  book  is  the  best  law-book  ever  writ- 
ten anjway;  the  law's  all  there.  If  you  knew  all 
that  contains,  you  could  go  in  any  court  and  get 
along  without  giving  yourself  away;  which  is  the 
whole  duty  of  a  lawyer." 

He  closed  the  book  and  gave  it  to  Marley,  who 
was  somewhat  at  a  loss;  this  was  the  final  disap- 
pointment. He  had  thought  that  his  introduction 
into  the  mysteries  of  the  noble  profession  should 
be  attended  by  some  sort  of  ceremony.  He  looked 
at  the  book  in  his  hand  quite  helplessly  and  then 
looked  up  at  Powell. 

"Is  that— all  The  said. 

"Why,  yes,"  Powell  answered.  "Isn't  that 
enough  ?" 

"I  thought — that  is,  that  I  might  have  some  du- 
ties.   How  am  I  to  begin  ?" 

"Why,  just  open  the  book  to  the  first  page  and 
read  that,  then  turn  over  to  the  second  page  and 
road  that,  and  so  on — till  you  get  to  the  end." 

"What  will  my  hours  be  ?" 

"Your  hours  ?"  said  Powell,  as  if  he  did  not  -un- 
derstand.   "Oh,  just  suit  yourself." 

Marley  was  looking  at  the  book  again. 

27 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

"Don't  you  make  any  entry — any  memoran- 
dum ?"  he  asked,  still  unable  to  separate  himself 
from  the  idea  that  something  formal,  something 
legal,  should  mark  tlie  beginning  of  such  an  im- 
portant epoch. 

"Oh,  you  keep  track  of  the  date,"  said  Powell, 
"and  at  the  end  of  three  years  I'll  give  you  a  cer- 
tificate. You  may  find  that  you  can  do  most  of 
your  reading  at  home,  but  come  around." 

Marley  looked  about  the  office,  trying  to  imagine 
himself  in  this  new  situation. 

"I'd  like,  you  know,"  he  said,  "to  do  something, 
if  I  could,  to  repay  you  for  your  trouble." 

"That's  all  right,  my  boy,"  said  Powell.  Then 
he  added  as  if  the  thought  had  just  come  to  him: 

"Say,  can  you  run  a  typewriter  ?" 

"I  can  learn." 

"Well,  that's  more  than  I  can  do,"  said  Powell, 
glancing  at  his  new  machine.  "I've  tried,  but  it 
would  take  a  stationary  engineer  to  operate  that 
thing.  You  might  help  out  with  my  letters  and 
my  pleadings  now  and  then.  And  I'd  like  to  have 
you  around.    You'd  make  good  company." 

"Well,"  said  Marley,  "I'll  be  here  in  the  morn- 

28 


WADE  POWELL 

ing."  He  still  clung  to  the  idea  that  he  was  to  b©  a 
part  of  the  office,  to  be  an  identity  in  the  local  ma- 
chinery of  the  law.  As  he  rose  to  go,  a  young 
man  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  was  tall,  and 
the  English  cap  and  the  rough  Scotch  suit  he  wore, 
with  the  trousers  rolled  up  over  his  heavy  tan 
shoes,  enabled  Marley  to  identify  him  instantly  as 
young  Halliday.  He  was  certain  of  this  when 
Powell,  looking  up,  said  indifferently: 

"Hello,  Gleorge.     Eaining  in  London?" 

"Oh,  I  say,  Powell,''  replied  Halliday,  ignoring 
a  taunt  that  had  grown  familiar  to  him,  "that 
Zeller  case — we  would  like  to  have  that  go  over 
to  the  fall  term,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Why  don't  you  settle  it?"  asked  Powell. 

Halliday  was  leaning  against  the  door-post,  and 
had  drawn  a  short  brier  pipe  from  his  pocket.  Be- 
fore he  answered,  he  paused  long  enough  to  fill  it 
with  tobacco.     Then  he  said: 

"You'll  have  to  see  the  governor  about  that — 
it's  a  case  he's  been  looking  after." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Powell,  with  his  easy  acquies- 
cence, "all  right" 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

Halliday  had  pressed  the  tobacco  into  the  bowl 
of  the  pipe  and  struck  a  match. 

"Then,  I'll  tell  old  Bill/'  he  said,  pausing  in 
his  sentence  to  light  his  pipe,  "to  mark  it  off 
the  assignment." 

Marley  watched  Halliday  saunter  away,  with 
a  feeling  that  mixed  admiration  with  amazement. 
He  could  not  help  admiring  his  clothes,  and  he 
felt  drawn  toward  him  as  a  college  man  from  a 
school  so  much  greater  than  his  own,  though  he 
felt  some  resentment  because  Halliday  had  never 
once  given  a  sign  that  he  was  aware  of  Marley's 
presence.  His  amazement  came  from  the  utter 
disrespect  with  which  Halliday  referred  to  Judge 
Blair.  Old  Bill!  Marley  had  caught  his  breath. 
He  would  have  liked  to  discuss  Halliday  with 
Powell,  but  the  lawyer  seemed  to  be  as  indif- 
ferent to  Halliday's  existence  as  Halliday  had  been, 
to  Marley's,  and  when  Marley  saw  that  Powell 
was  not  likely  to  refer  to  him,  he  started  toward 
the  door.  As  he  went  Powell  resumptively  called 
after  him : 

"I'll  get  a  Blackstone  for  you  in  a  day  or  two. 
Be  down  in  the  morning." 

3Q 


WADE  POWELL 

Marley  went  away  bearing  Swan's  Treatise  un- 
der his  arm.  He  looked  up  at  the  Court  House 
across  the  way;  the  trees  were  stirring  in  the 
light  winds  of  summer,  and  their  leaves  writhed 
joyously  in  the  sun.  The  windows  of  the  Court 
House  were  open,  and  he  could  hear  the  voice  of 
some  lawyer  arguing  a  cause  to  the  jury.  Marley 
thought  of  Judge  Blair  sitting  there,  the  jury  in 
its  box,  the  sleepy  bailiff  drowsing  in  his  place, 
the  accustomed  attorneys  and  the  angry  litigants, 
and  his  heart  began  to  beat  a  little  more  rapidly, 
for  the  thought  of  Judge  Blair  brought  the  thought 
of  Lavinia  Blair.  And  in  the  days  to  come,  when 
he  should  be  arguing  a  cause  to  a  jury,  as  that 
lawyer,  whose  voice  came  pealing  and  echoing  in 
sudden  and  surprising  shouts  through  the  open 
windows,  was  arguing  a  cause  now,  would  Lavinia 
Blair  be  interested  ? 

He  had  imagined  that  a  day  so  full  of  import- 
ance for  him  would  be  marked  by  greater  ceremon- 
ials, and  yet  while  he  was  disappointed,  he  was 
reassured.  He  had  solved  a  problem,  he  had  done 
with  inaction,  he  had  made  a  beginning,  he  was 
entered  at  last  upon  a  career.     As  all  the  events 

31 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

of  the  recent  years  rushed  on  him,  the  years  of  col- 
lege life,  the  decisions  and  indecisions  of  his  class- 
mates, their  vague  troubles  about  a  career,  he  felt 
a  pride  that  he  had  so  soon  solved  that  problem. 
He  felt  a  certain  superiority  too,  that  made  him 
carry  his  head  high,  as  he  turned  into  Main 
Street  and  marched  across  the  Square.  It  required 
only  decision  and  life  was  conquered.  He  saw 
the  years  stretching  out  prosperously  before  him, 
expanding  as  his  ambitions  expanded.  He  was 
glad  that  he  had  tackled  life  so  promptly,  that  he 
had  come  so  quickly  to  an  issue  with  it ;  it  was  not 
so  bad,  viewed  thus  close,  as  it  had  been  from 
a  distance.  He  laughed  at  the  folly  of  all  the  talk 
he  had  heard  about  the  difficulty  of  young  men 
getting  a  start  in  these  days;  he  must  write  to 
his  fraternity  fellows  at  once,  and  tell  them  what 
he  had  done  and  how  he  was  succeeding.  They 
would  surely  see  that  at  the  bar  he  would  do,  not 
only  himself,  but  them,  the  greatest  credit,  and 
they  would  be  proud. 


82 


CHAPTEE  III 


GREENWOOD    LAKE 


The  girls,  flitting  about  with  nervous  laugh- 
ter and  now  and  then  little  screams,  had  spread 
long  cloths  over  the  table  of  plain  boards 
that  had  served  so  many  picnic  parties  at 
Greenwood  Lake;  the  table-cloths  and  the  dresses 
of  the  girls  gleamed  white  in  the  amber  light  that 
streamed  across  the  little  sheet  of  water,  though 
the  slender  trees,  freshened  by  the  morning  shower 
that  threatened  to  spoil  the  outing,  were  beginning 
to  darken  under  the  shadows  that  diffused  them- 
selves subtly  through  the  grove,  as  if  there  were 
exudations  of  the  heavy  foliage. 

Lawrence,  in  his  white  ducks,  stood  by  the  table, 
assuming  to  direct  the  laying  of  the  supper.  His 
immense  cravat  of  blue  was  the  only  bit  of  color 
about  him,  unless  it  were  his  red  hair,  which  he 

33 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

had  had  clipped  that  very  morning,  and  his  shorn 
appearance  intensified  his  comic  air.  Marley,  sit^ 
ting  apart  on  the  stump  of  a  small  oak,  could  hear 
the  burlesque  orders  Lawrence  shouted  at  the  girls. 
The  girls  were  convulsed  by  his  orders;  at  times 
they  had  to  put  their  dishes  down  lest  in  their 
laughter  they  spill  the  food  or  break  the  china; 
just  then  Marley  saw  Mayme  Carter  double  over 
suddenly,  her  mass  of  yellow  hair  lurching  forward 
to  her  brow,  while  the  woods  rang  with  her  laugh- 
ter. The  other  men  were  off  looking  after  the 
horses. 

Lavinia  moved  quickly  here  and  there,  smiling 
joyously,  her  face  flushed;  though  she  laughed 
as  the  others  did  at  Lawrence's  drollery,  she  did  not 
laugh  as  loudly,  and  she  did  not  scream.  Just 
now  she  rose  from  bending  over  the  table,  and 
brushed  her  brown  hair  from  her  brow  with  the 
back  of  her  hand,  while  she  stood  and  surveyed 
the  table  as  if  to  see  what  it  lacked.  When  she 
raised  her  hand  the  sleeve  of  her  muslin  gown 
fell  away  from  her  wrist  and  showed  her 
slender  forearm,  white  in  the  cahu  light  of  even- 
ing.    Marley  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  her. 

34 


GKEEJSTWOOD  LAKE 

Slie  ran  into  the  pavilion,  her  little  low  shoes 
flashed  below  her  petticoats,  and  he  grew  sad ;  when 
she  reappeared,  all  her  movements  seemed  to  be 
new,  to  have  fresh  beauties.  Then  he  suspected 
that  the  girls  were  laughing  at  him  and  he  felt 
miserable. 

He  thought  of  himself  sitting  alone  and  apart, 
an  awkward,  ungainly  figure.  He  longed  to  go 
away,  yet  he  feared  that,  if  he  did,  he  would  not 
have  the  courage  to  come  back.  He  shifted  his  po- 
sition, only  to  make  matters  worse.  Then  sud- 
denly his  feeling  took  the  form  of  a  rage  with 
Lawrence;  he  longed  to  seize  Lawrence  and  kick 
him,  to  pitch  him  into  the  lake,  to  humiliate  him 
before  the  girls.  He  thought  he  saw  all  at  once 
that  Lawrence  had  been  making  fun  of  him,  sur- 
reptitiously; that  was  what  had  made  the  girls 
laugh  so. 

\  There  was  some  little  consolation  in  the  thought 
that  Lavinia  did  not  laugh  as  much  as  the  others ; 
perhaps,  if  she  did  not  care  to  defend  him,  she 
at  least  pitied  him.  And  then  he  began  to  pity 
himself.  The  whole  evening  stretched  before  him ; 
pretty  soon  h«  would  have  to  mor©  up  to  the  table, 

35 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

and  sit  down  on  the  narrow  little  benches  that 
were  fastened  between  the  trees ;  then  after  supper 
they  would  begin  their  dancing  and  when  that 
came  he  did  not  see  what  he  could  do. 

The  only  pleasure  he  had  had  that  afternoon  had 
been  on  the  way  out ;  he  had  been  alone  with  La- 
vinia,  and  the  four  miles  of  pleasant  road  that 
lay  between  the  town  and  Greenwood  Lake  were 
too  short  for  all  the  happiness  Marley  found  in 
them.  He  could  feel  Lavinia  again  by  his  side,  her 
hands  folded  on  the  thin  old  linen  lap-robe.  He 
could  not  recall  a  word  they  had  said,  but  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  conversation  had  flowed  on  inti- 
mately and  tranquilly;  she  had  been  so  close  and 
sympathetic ;  and  he  would  always  remember  how 
her  eyes  had  been  raised  to  his.  The  fields  with  the 
wheat  in  shock  had  swept  by  in  the  beauty  of  har- 
vest time;  the  road,  its  dust  laid  by  the  morning 
shower,  had  rolled  under  the  wheels  of  the  buggy 
softly,  smoothly  and  noiselessly;  the  air  had  been 
odorous  with  the  scent  of  green  things  freshened 
by  the  rain,  and  had  vibrated  with  the  sounds  of 
summer. 

Then  suddenly  his  reverie  was  broken.     The 

36 


GEEEJSrWOOD  LAKE 

men  were  gathering  about  the  table  with  the  girls ; 
all  of  them  looked  at  him  expectantly. 

"Here,  you!"  called  Lawrence.  ^'Do  you  think 
we're  going  to  do  all  the  work?  Come,  get  in 
the  game,  and  don't  look  so  solemn — this  ain't  a 
funeral." 

They  all  laughed,  and  Marley  felt  his  face  flame, 
but  he  rose  and  went  over  to  the  table,  halting  in 
indecision. 

"Run  get  some  water,"  ordered  Lawrence,  im- 
peratively waving  his  hand.  "Mayme,"  he 
shouted,  "hand  him  the  pitcher !  Step  lively,  now. 
The  men-folks  are  hungry  after  their  day's  work. 
Has  any  one  got  a  pitcher  concealed  about  his 
person  ?  What  did  you  do  with  the  pitcher,  Glenn  ? 
Take  it  to  water  your  horse  ?" 

They  were  laughing  uproariously,  and  Marley 
was  plainly  discomfited.  But  Lavinia  stepped  to 
his  side,  a  large  white  pitcher  in  her  hand.  "I'll 
show  you,"  she  said. 

They  started  away  together,  and  Marley  felt  a 
protection  in  her  presence.  A  little  way  farther 
he  suddenly  thought  of  the  pitcher,  which  Lavinia 
still  was  bearing,  and  he  took  it  from  her.     As  he 

37 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

seized  the  handle  their  fingers  became  for  an  in- 
stant entangled. 

"Did  I  hurt  you?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  no !"  she  assured  him,  and  as  they  walked 
on,  out  of  the  sight  of  the  laughing  group  behind 
them^  an  ease  came  over  him. 

"Do  you  know  where  the  well  is  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered.  "It^s  down  here.  I 
could  have  come  just  as  well  as  not" 

"Fm  glad  to  come,"  he  said;  and  then  he 
added,  "with  you." 

They  had  reached  the  wooden  pump  behind  the 
pavilion.  The  little  sheet  of  water  curved  away 
like  a  crescent,  following  the  course  of  the  stream 
of  which  it  was  but  a  widening.  Its  little  islands 
were  mirrored  in  its  surface.  The  sun  was  just 
going  down,  the  sky  beyond  the  lake  was  rosy,  and 
the  same  rosy  hue  now  suffused  everything;  the 
waters  themselves  were  reddened. 

It  was  very  still,  and  the  peace  of  the  evening  lay 
on  them  both.  Lavinia  stood  motionless,  and 
looked  out  across  the  water  to  the  little  Ohio  hills 
that  rolled  away  toward  the  west.  She  stood  and 
gazed  a  long  time,  her  hands  at  her  sides,  yet 

38 


GREENWOOD  LAKE 

witli  their  fingers  open  and  extended,  as  if  the 
beauty  of  the  scene  had  suddenly  transfixed  her. 
Marley  did  not  see  the  lake  or  the  sun,  the  islands 
or  the  hills ;  he  saw  only  the  girl  before  him,  the 
outline  of  her  cheek,  the  down  on  it  showing  fine 
in  the  pure  light,  the  hair  that  nestled  at  her 
neck,  the  curve  from  her  shoulder  to  her  arms  and 
down  to  her  intent  fingers.  At  last  she  sighed,  and 
looked  up  at  him. 

"Isn't  it  all  beautiful  ?"  she  said  solemnly. 

"Beautiful  ?"  he  repeated,  as  if  in  question,  not 
knowing  what  she  said. 

Just  then  they  heard  Lawrence  hallooing,  and 
Marley  began  to  pump  vigorously.  He  rinsed  out 
the  pitcher,  then  filled  it,  and  they  went  back,  walk- 
ing closely  side  by  side,  and  they  did  not  speak  all 
the  way. 

Mayme  Carter,  who,  as  it  seemed,  had  a  local 
reputation  as  a  compounder  of  lemonade,  had  the 
lemons  and  the  sugar  all  ready  when  Marley  and 
Lavinia  rejoined  the  group,  and  Lawrence,  as  he 
seized  the  pitcher,  said: 

"I  see  that,  between  you,  youVe  spilled  nearly 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

all  of  tlie  water,  but  I  guess  Mayme  and  I'll  have 
to  make  it  do." 

The  others  laughed  at  this,  as  they  did  at  all  of 
Lawrence's  speeches,  and  then  they  turned  and 
laughed  at  Marley  and  Lavinia,  though  the  men, 
who  as  yet  did  not  feel  themselves  on  terms  with 
Marley,  had  a  subtile  manner  of  not  including 
him  in  their  ridicule,  however  little  they  spared 
Lavinia. 

The  supper  was  eaten  with  the  hunger  their  spir- 
its and  the  fresh  air  had  given  them  and  Marley, 
placed,  as  of  course,  by  Lavinia's  side,  felt  shel- 
tered by  her,  as  he  felt  sheltered  by  all  the  talk  that 
raged  about  him.  He  wished  that  he  could  join  in 
the  talk,  but  he  could  not  discover  what  it  was  all 
about.  Once,  in  a  desperate  determination  to 
assert  himself,  he  did  mention  a  book  he  had  been 
reading,  but  his  remark  seemed  to  have  a  chilling 
effect  from  which  they  did  not  recover  until  Law- 
rence, out  of  his  own  inexhaustible  fund  of  non- 
sense, restored  them  to  their  inanities.  He  tried  to 
hide  his  embarrassment  by  eating  the  cold  chicken, 
tJie  ham  and  sardines,  the  potato  chips  and  pickles, 
the  hard-boiled  eggs  and  sandwiches  that  went  up 

40 


GKEEI^WOOD  LAKE 

and  down  tlie  board  in  endless  procession,  and  he 
was  thankful,  when  he  thought  of  it,  that  Law- 
rence seemed  to  forget  him,  though  Lawrence 
had  forgotten  no  one  else  there.  He  seemed 
to  note  accurately  each  mouthful  every  one  took. 

"Hand  up  another  dozen  eggs  for  Miss  Win- 
ters, Joe,"  he  called  to  one  of  the  men,  and  then 
they  all  laughed  at  Miss  Winters. 

When  the  cake  came,  Lawrence  identified  each 
kind  with  some  remark  about  the  mother  of  the 
girl  who  had  brought  it,  and  tasted  all,  because,  as 
he  said,  he  could  not  afford  to  show  partiality. 
The  fun  lagged  somewhat  as  the  meal  neared  its 
end,  but  Lawrence  revived  it  instantly  and  sen- 
sationally by  rising  suddenly,  bending  far  over 
toward  Lavinia  in  a  tragic  attitude  and  saying: 

"Why,  Vine,  child,  you  haven't  eaten  a  mouth- 
ful !     I  do  believe  you're  in  love !" 

The  company  burst  into  laughter,  but  they  sud- 
denly stopped  when  they  saw  Marley.  His  face 
showed  his  anger  with  them,  and  he  made  a  little 
movement,  but  Lavinia  smiled  up  at  Lawrence,  and 
said : 

"Well;  Jack;  it's  evident  that  you're  not." 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

And  then  they  all  laughed  at  Lawrence,  and 
the  girls  clapped  their  hands,  while  Marley,  angry 
now  with  himself,  tried  to  laugh  with  them. 

When  they  stopped  laughing  Lawrence  produced 
his  cigarettes,  and  tossing  one  to  Marley  in  a  way 
that  delicately  conveyed  a  sense  of  intimacy  and 
affection,  he  said: 

"When  you  girls  get  your  dishes  done  up  we'll 
be  back  and  see  if  we  can't  think  up  something  to 
entertain  you,"  and  then  he  called  Marley  and 
with  him  and  the  other  men  strolled  down  to  the 
lake. 


421 


CHAPTEE  IV 


MOONLIGHT 


The  dance  was  proposed  almost  immediately. 
Marley  had  hoped  up  to  the  very  last  minute 
that  something,  possibly  a  miracle,  would  pre- 
vent it,  but  scarcely  had  the  men  finished  their 
first  cigarettes  before  Howard  was  saying: 

"Well,  let's  be  getting  back  to  the  girls.  They'll 
want  to  dance." 

Howard  spoke  as  if  the  dancing  would  be  a  sacri- 
fice on  the  part  of  the  men  to  the  pleasure  of  the 
girls,  but  they  all  turned  at  once,  some  of  them 
flinging  their  cigarettes  into  the  water,  as  if  to  com- 
plete the  sacrifice,  and  started  back.  When  they 
reached  the  pavilion,  Payson  and  Gallard  took  in- 
struments out  of  green  bags,  Payson  a  guitar  and 
Gallard  a  mandolin,  and  Lawrence,  bustling  about 
over  the  floor,  shoving  the  few  chairs  against  the 
unplastered  wooden  walls,  was  shouting: 

43 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE. 

*'Tune  'em  up,  boys,  tune  'em  up  1" 

The  first  tentative  notes  of  the  strings  twanged 
in  tlie  hollow  room,  and  Lawrence  was  asking  the 
girls  for  dances,  scribbling  their  names  on  his  cuff 
with  a  disregard  of  its  white  polished  linen  almost 
painful. 

'^I'll  have  to  divide  up  some  of  'em,  you  know, 
girls,"  he  said.  "Jim  and  Elmer  have  to  play,  and 
that  makes  us  two  men  shy.  But  I'll  do  the  best 
I  can — wish  I  could  take  you  all  in  my  arms  at  once 
and  dance  mth  vou." 

The  girls,  standing  in  an  expectant,  eager  little 
group,  clutched  one  another  nervously,  and  pre- 
tended to  sneer  at  Lawrence's  patronage. 

Marley  was  standing  with  Lavinia  near  the  door. 
He  was  trying  to  affect  an  ease;  he  knew  by  the 
way  the  other  girls  glanced  at  him  now  and  then 
that  they  were  speculating  on  his  possibilities  as  a 
partner;  he  tried  just  then  to  look  as  if  he  were 
going  to  dance  as  all  the  other  men  were,  yet  he 
felt  the  necessity  of  confessing  to  Lavinia, 

"You  know,"  he  said  contritely,  "that  I  don'fc 
dance." 

She  looked  up,  a  disappointment  springing  to  her 

44 


MOO:^LIGHT. 

eyes  too  quickly  for  her  to  conceal  it  Slie  was 
flushed  with  pleasure  and  excitement,  and  tapping 
her  foot  in  time  with  the  chords  Payson  and  Gal- 
lard  were  trying  on  their  instruments,  Marley 
saw  her  surprise. 

^^I  ought  not  to  have  come,"  he  said;  "IVe  no 
business  here." 

The  look  of  disappointment  in  Lavinia's  eyes 
had  gone,  and  in  its  place  was  now  an  expression 
of  sympathy. 

"It  makes  no  difference,"  she  said.  And  then 
she  added  in  a  low  voice:  "I'll  not  dance  either; 
there  are  too  many  of  us  girls  anyway." 

"Oh,  don't  let  me  keep  you  from  it,"  said  Mar- 
ley,  and  yet  a  joy  was  shining  in  his  eyes.  She 
turned  away  and  blushed. 

"I'U  give  you  aU  my  dances,"  she  said;  "we 
can  sit  them  out." 

"But  it  won't  be  any  fun  for  you,"  protested 
Marley.    And  just  then  Lawrence  came  up. 

"Say,  Glenn,"  he  said,  "if  you  don't  want  to 
dance  I'll  take  Lavinia  for  the  first  number." 

The  guitar  and  mandolin,  after  a  long  prelim- 
inary strumming  to  get  themselves  in  tune,  sud- 

46 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE. 

denlj  burst  into  The  Georgia  Campmeeting,  and 
the  couples  were  instantly  springing  across  the 
floor. 

"Come  on,  Vine,"  said  Lawrence,  his  fingers 
twitching.  And  Lavinia,  eager,  trembling,  alive, 
casting  one  last  glance  at  Marley,  said  "Just  this 
one !"  and  went  whirling  away  with  Lawrence. 

Marley  moved  aside,  awkwardly,  when  the  cou- 
ples, sweeping  in  a  long  oval  stream  around  the 
little  room,  whirled  past  him.  Lavinia  danced 
with  a  grace  that  almost  hurt  him ;  she  was  laugh- 
ing as  she  looked  up  into  Lawrence's  face,  talking 
to  him  as  they  danced.  Marley  felt  a  gloom,  almost 
a  rage,  settle  on  him.  He  looked  up  and  down  the 
room.  At  the  farther  end,  through  the  door  by 
which  the  musicians  sat  swinging  their  feet  over 
their  knees  in  time  to  the  tune  they  played,  he 
could  see  the  man  who  kept  the  grounds  at  the  lake, 
looking  on  at  the  dance;  his  wife  was  with  him, 
and  they  smiled  contentedly  at  the  joy  of  the  young 
people. 

Marley  could  not  bear  their  joy,  any  more  than 
he  could  bear  the  joy  of  the  dancers,  and  he  looked 
away  from  them.    Glancing  along  the  wall  he  saw 

4a 


MOONLIGHT. 

a  girl,  sitting  alone.  It  was  Grace  Winters;  she 
was  older  than  the  others,  and  she  sat  there  sul- 
lenly, her  dark  brows  contracted  under  her  dark 
hair.  Marley  felt  drawn  toward  her  by  a  common 
trouble,  and  he  thought,  instantly,  that  he  might 
appear  less  conspicuous  if  he  went  and  sat  beside 
her.  As  he  approached,  her  sallow  face  brightened 
with  a  brilliant  smile  of  welcome  and  she  drew 
aside  her  skirts  to  make  a  place  for  him,  though 
there  was  no  one  else  on  all  that  side  of  the  room. 
Marley  sat  down. 

"It's  warm,  isn't  it  ?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  Miss  Winters  replied,  "almost  too  warm 
to  dance,  don't  you  think  ?" 

Marley  tried  to  express  his  acquiescence  in  the 
polite  smile  he  had  seen  the  other  men  use  before 
the  dance  began,  but  he  did  not  feel  that  he  car- 
ried it  off  very  well. 

"I  should  think  you'd  be  dancing,  Mr.  Marley," 
Miss  Winters  said.  "I  hear  you  are  a  splendid 
dancer.    Don't  you  care  to  dance  this  evening  ?" 

"I  can't  dance,"  said  Marley,  crudely. 

He  was  looking  at  Lavinia,  following  her  young 
figure  as  it  glided  past  with  Lawrence.     Miss 

it 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

Winters  turned  away.  Her  face  became  gloomy 
again,  and  she  said  nothing  more.  Marley  was 
absorbed  in  Lavinia,  and  they  sat  there  together 
silent,  conspicuous  and  alone,  in  a  wide  separation. 

Marley  thought  the  dance  never  would  end.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  dancers  must  drop  from 
fatigue ;  but  at  last  the  mandolin  and  guitar  ceased 
suddenly,  the  girls  cried  out  a  disappointed  uni- 
sonant  ^'Oh !"  and  then  they  all  laughed  and 
clapped  their  hands.  Lavinia  and  Lawrence  were 
coming  up,  glowing  with  the  joy  of  the  dance. 

''Oh,  that  was  splendid.  Jack!"  Lavinia  cried, 
putting  back  her  hair  with  that  wave  of  her  hand. 

Lawrence's  face  was  redder  than  ever.  He 
leaned  over  and  in  a  whisper  that  was  for  La- 
vinia and  Marley  together  he  said; 

"Lavinia,  you're  the  queen  dancer  of  the  town.'* 
And  then  he  turned  to  Miss  Winters. 

"Grace,"  he  said,  distributing  himself  with  the 
impartiality  he  felt  his  position  as  a  social  leader 
demanded,  "you've  promised  me  a  dance  for  a  long  • 
time.    E"ow's  my  chance." 

"Why  certainly.  Jack,"  Miss  Winters  said,  with 
her  brilliant  smile,  and  then  she  took  Lawrence's 

48 


MOONLIGHT 

arm  and  drew  him  away,  as  if  otherwise  he  might 
escape. 

"Take  me  outdoors!"  said  Lavinia  to  Marley. 
"Those  big  lamps  make  it  so  hot  in  herei" 

Marley  was  glad  to  leave,  and  they  went  out  on 
to  the  little  piazza  of  the  pavilion.  Lavinia  stood 
on  the  very  edge  of  the  steps,  and  drank  in  the  fresh 
air  eagerly. 

"Oh !''  she  said.    "Oh !  Isn't  it  delicious !'' 

The  darkness  lay  thick  between  the  trees.  The 
air  was  rich  with  the  scent  of  the  mown  fields  that 
lay  beyond  the  grove.  The  insects  shrilled  content- 
edly. Marley  stood  and  looked  at  Lavinia,  stand- 
ing on  the  edge  of  the  steps,  her  body  bent  a  little 
forward,  her  face  upturned.  She  put  back  her  hair 
again. 

"Let's  go  on  down!"  she  said,  a  little  adventur- 
ous quality  in  her  tone.  She  ran  lightly  down  the 
steps,  Marley  after  her. 

"Won't  you  take  cold?"  he  asked,  bending  close 
to  her. 

She  looked  up  and  laughed.  They  were  walking 
on,  unconsciously  making  their  way  toward  the 
edge  of  the  little  lake.    Marley  felt  the  white  form 

49 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

ifloating  there  beside  him  and  a  happiness,  new, 
unknown  before,  came  to  him.  They  were  on  the 
edge  of  the  little  lake.  Before  them  the  water 
lay,  dark  now,  and  smooth.  A  small  stage  was 
moored  to  the  shore  and  a  boat  was  fastened  to 
it.  They  could  hear  the  light  lapping  of  the  water 
that  barely  stirred  the  boat.  Presently  Lavinia 
ran  out  on  to  the  stage.  She  gave  a  little  spring, 
and  rocked  it  up  and  down;  then  smiled  up  at 
Marley  like  a  child  venturing  in  forbidden  places. 
Marley  stepped  carefully  on  to  the  stage. 

"Isn't  it  a  perfect  night?"  Lavinia  said,  look- 
ing up  at  the  dark  purple  sky,  stre^vn  with  all  the 
stars.    Marley  looked  at  her  white  throat. 

"The  most  beautiful  night  I  ever  knew!"  he 
said.  He  spoke  solemnly,  devoutly,  and  Lavinia 
turned  and  gazed  on  him.  Marley  touched  the  boat 
with  the  toe  of  his  shoe. 

"We  might  row,"  he  said  almost  timidly. 

"Could  we  ?"  inquired  Lavinia. 

"If  we  may  take  the  boat." 

"Oh,  of  course — anybody  may.    Can  you  row  ?" 

Marley  laughed.  He  had  rowed  in  the  college 
crew  on  the   old   Olentangy   at   Delaware.     His 

60 


MOONLIGHT 

laugh  was  a  complete  answer  to  Lavinia.  She  ap- 
proached the  boat,  and  Marley  bent  over  and  drew 
it  alongside  the  stage. 

"Get  in,"  he  said.  It  was  good  to  find  something 
he  could  do.  He  helped  her  carefully  into  the 
boat,  and  held  it  firmly  until  she  had  arranged  her- 
self in  the  stern,  her  feet  against  the  cleats,  and 
her  white  skirts  tucked  about  her.  Then  he  took 
his  seat,  shipped  the  oars  and  shoved  off.  He  swept 
the  boat  out  into  the  deep  water,  and  rowed  away 
up  the  lake.  He  rowed  precisely,  feathering  his 
oars,  that  she  might  see  how  much  a  master  he  was. 
They  did  not  speak  for  a  long  time.  First  one,  then 
the  other,  of  the  little  islands  swept  darkly  by; 
the  water  slapped  the  bow  of  the  boat  as  Marley 
urged  it  forward.  The  lights  of  the  pavilion  on 
the  shore  twinkled  an  instant,  then  went  out  be- 
hind the  trees.  They  could  hear  the  distant  mellow 
thrumming  of  the  guitar  and  the  tinkle  of  the 
mandolin. 

"Are  you  too  cool  ?"  he  asked  presently. 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all!"  said  Lavinia. 

"Hadn't  you  better  take  my  coat  ?"  Marley  per- 


n 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

sisted.  The  idea  of  putting  his  coat  about  her 
thrilled  him. 

"You'll  need  it/'  she  said. 

"l^Oy  I'll  be  warm  rowing." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  smiled.  They  drifted 
on.  Still  came  the  distant  strumming  of  the  guitar 
and  the  tinkle  of  the  mandolin.  Marlej  thought  of 
the  young  people  dancing,  and  then,  noting  Lavin- 
ia's  silence,  he  asked,  out  of  the  doubt  that  was  his 
one  remaining  annoyance : 

"Wouldn't  you  rather  be  back  there  dancing  ?" 

"^0,  no !"  she  answered  softly. 

"I'm  ashamed  of  myself." 

"Why?"     She  started  a  little. 

"Because  I  can't  dance!"  There  was  guilt  in 
his  tone. 

"You  mustn't  feel  that  way  about  it,"  Lavinia 
said.     "It's  nothing." 

"Isn't  it?" 

"No.    It's  easy  to  learn." 

"I  never  could  learn." 

Lavinia  was  still,  and  Marley  thought  she  as- 
sented to  this.  But  in  another  moment  she  spoke 
again. 

n 


MOONLIGHT 

"I — "  she  began,  and  then  she  hesitated. 

Marley  stopped  rowing  and  rested  on  his  oars. 
The  water  lapped  the  bows  of  the  boat  as  it  slack- 
ened its  speed. 

"I  could  teach  you,"  Lavinia  went  on. 

"Could  you  ?"     Marley  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"I'd  like  to.''  She  was  trailing  one  white  hand 
in  the  water. 

"Will  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "We  can  do  it  over  at  Mayme's 
— any  time.     She'll  play  for  us." 

Marley  felt  a  great  gratitude,  and  he  wondered 
how  he  could  pour  it  forth  upon  her. 

"You  are  too  good  to  me,"  he  exclaimed. 

Then,  suddenly,  a  change  came  over  the  dark 
surface  of  the  waters.  A  mellow  quality  touched 
them ;  they  seemed  to  tremble  ecstatically,  then  they 
broke  into  sparkling  ripples ;  the  air  quivered  with 
a  luminous  beauty  and  a  light  flooded  the  little 
valley.  Marley  and  Lavinia  turned  instinctively 
and  looked  up,  and  there,  over  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  black  a  moment  before,  now  rounded  domes 
of  silver,  rose  the  moon.  They  gazed  at  it  a  long 
time.     Finally  Marley  turned  and  looked  at  La- 

53 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

vinia.  Her  white  dress  had  become  a  drapery, 
her  arms  gleamed,  her  eyes  were  lustrous  in  the 
transfiguration  of  the  moonlight.  He  could  see 
that  her  lips  were  slightly  parted,  and  her  finger- 
tips, dipped  in  the  cool  water  over  the  gunwale  of 
the  boat,  trailed  behind  them  a  long  narrow  thread 
of  silver.  They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and 
neither  spoke.  They  drifted  on.  At  last,  Marley 
said: 

"Lavinia!" 

She  stirred. 

"Do  you  know — "  he  began,  and  then  he  stopped. 
"Don't  you  know,"  he  went  on,  "can't  you  see, 
that  I  love  you  ?" 

He  rested  his  arms  on  the  oars,  and  leaned  over 
toward  her. 

"I've  loved  you  ever  since  that  first  night — do 
you  remember?  I  know — I  know  I'm  not  good 
enough,  but  can't  you — can't  I — love  you  ?" 

He  saw  her  eyelids  fall,  and  as  she  turned  and 
looked  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  she  put  forth 
her  hand,  and  he  took  it. 

They  were  awakened  from  the  dream  by  a  call, 


64 


MOONLIGHT 

and  after  what  seemed  to  Marley  a  long  time,  lie 
finally  remembered  the  voice  as  Lawrence's. 

"We  must  go  back,"  he  said  reluctantly.  "How 
long  have  we  been  gone  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Lavinia.  He  heard  her 
sigh. 

Marley  pulled  the  boat  in  the  direction  whence 
came  the  hallooing  voice;  he  had  quite  lost  all  no- 
tion of  their  whereabouts.  But  presently  they  saw 
the  lights  of  the  pavilion,  and  then  the  dark  fig- 
ures of  the  men,  and  the  white  figures  of  the  girls 
on  shore. 

As  they  pulled  up  and  Marley  sprang  out  of  the 
boat  to  the  landing  stage,  Lawrence  said: 

"Well,  where  have  you  babes  been  ?" 

Marley  helped  Lavinia  out  of  the  boat. 

"WeVe  been  rowing,"  he  said. 

"We  thought  you'd  been  drowned,"  said  Law- 
rence. 

Marley  and  Lavinia  drove  home  together  in  si- 
lence. In  the  light  of  the  moon,  the  road  was  sil- 
ver, and  the  fields  with  their  shocks  of  wheat 
were  gold. 


55 


CHAPTEE  y. 


THE    SEEENADE. 


"I  don't  know  what  ails  Lavinia/'  said  Mrs. 
Elair  to  her  husband  as  he  sat  on  the  veranda 
after  dinner  the  next  day.  The  judge  laid  his 
paper  in  his  lap,  and  looked  up  at  his  wife  over 
his  glasses. 

"Isn't  she  well?"  he  asked. 

"M — yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Blair,  prolonging  the 
word  in  her  lack  of  conviction,  "I  guess  so." 

"Don't  you  know  ?"  the  judge  demanded  in  some 
impatience  with  her  uncertainty. 

"She  says  she  feels  all  right." 

"Well,  then,  what  makes  you  think  she  isn't?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Blair,  "she 
seems  so  quiet,  that's  all." 

"Lavinia  is  not  a  girl  given  to  excitement  or 
demonstration,"  said  the  judge,  lapsing  easily  into 

56 


THE  SEKEISTADE 

tte  maimer  of  speech  lie  liad  cultivated  on  tlie 
bencli. 

"ISTo,  thaf  s  so/'  assented  Mrs.  Blair.  "But 
slie's  always  cheerful  and  bright" 

"Is  she  gloomy?" 

"ISTo,  I  wouldn't  exactly  call  it  that,  but  she 
seems  preoccupied — rather  wistful  I  should  say, 
yes — wistful."  She  seemed  pleased  to  have  found 
the  right  word. 

"Oh,  she's  all  right.  That  picnic  last  night  may 
have  fatigued  her.   I  presume  there  was  dancing." 

"Yes." 

"I  don't  know  that  we  should  let  her  go  out  that 
way."  The  judge  took  off  his  glasses  and  twirled 
them  by  their  black  cord  while  he  gazed  across  the 
street,  apparently  at  some  dogs  that  were  tumbling 
each  other  about  in  the  Chenowiths'  yard.  The 
judge  had  a  subconscious  anxiety  that  they  would 
get  into  Mrs.  Chenowith's  flower  beds. 

"You  and  I  used  to  go  to  them;  tHey  never 
hurt  u^/'  argued  Mrs.  Blair. 

"1^0,  I  suppose  not.  But  then — ^tHat  ;was  dif- 
ferent" 

Mrs.  Blair  laughed  lightly,  and  the  laugh  served 

5r 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

to  dissipate  their  cares.  Slie  went  to  the  edge  of 
the  veranda  and  pulled  a  few  leaves  from 
the  climbing  rose-vine  that  grew  there,  and  the 
judge  put  on  his  glasses  and  spread  out  his  paper. 

"I'll  take  her  out  for  a  drive  this  afternoon/' 
said  Mrs.  Blair,  turning  to  go  indoors. 

"She'll  be  all  right/'  said  the  judge,  already 
deep  in  the  political  columns. 

That  night  at  supper,  the  judge  looked  at  La- 
vinia  closely,  and  after  a  w^hile  he  said: 

"You're  not  eating,  Lavinia.  Don't  you  feel 
well?" 

Lavinia  turned  to  her  father  and  smiled. 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right." 

Her  smile  perplexed  the  judge. 

"You  look  pale,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Blair  glanced  warningly  at  him  the  length 
of  the  table. 

"My  girl's  losing  her  color,"  he  forged  ahead. 

Lavinia  dropped  her  eyelids,  and  a  look  of 
pain  appeared  in  her  face,  causing  it  to  grow  paler. 

"Please  don't  worry  about  me,  papa,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Blair  divined  Lavinia's  dislike  of  this 
personal  discussion.     She  tried  to  catch  her  hus- 

58 


THE  SEEEIN-ADE 

band's  eye  again,  but  he  was  looking  at  Lavinia 
narrowly  through  his  glasses. 

"Did  you  go  riding  this  afternoon?"  he  asked 
as  if  he  were  examining  a  witness  whom  counsel 
had  not  drawn  out  properly. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Blair  hastened  to  say.  "We  drove 
out  the  Ludlow  a  long  way." 

"She  was  riding  last  night,  too,"  said  Connie. 

"Who  with  ?"  demanded  Chad,  turning  to  Con- 
nie with  the  challenge  he  always  had  ready  for 
her. 

"Who  with?"  retorted  Connie.  "Why,  Glenn 
Marley,  of  course.     Who  else?" 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  demanded  Chad.  "What's 
it  to  you  ?" 

"Oh,  children,  children!"  protested  Mrs.  Blair, 
-wearily.     "Do  give  us  a  little  peace !" 

"Well,  she  began  it,"  said  Chad. 

Connie  was  eating  savagely,  but  she  whirled  on 
Chad,  speaking  with  difficulty  because  her  mouth 
was  filled  with  food : 

"You  shut  up,  will  you  ?" 

Chad  laughed  with  a  contempt  almost  theatrical, 
waved  his  hand  lightly  and  said; 

59 


THE  HAPPY  AYEEAGE 

"Eim  away,  little  girl,  run  away." 

Mrs.  Blair  asked  the  judge  why  lie  did  not  cor- 
rect his  children,  and  though  the  sigh  he  gave  ex- 
pressed the  hopelessness,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  of 
bringing  the  two  younger  members  of  his  train 
into  anything  like  decorous  behavior,  he  laid  his 
knife  and  fork  in  his  plate. 

"This  must  cease,"  he  said.  "It  is  scandalous. 
One  might  conclude  that  you  were  the  children  of 
some  family  in  Lighttown." 

"It  is  very  trying,"  said  Mrs.  Blair,  acquiescing 
in  her  husband's  reproof.  "They  are  just  like  fire 
and  tow."  She  said  this  quite  impersonally  and 
then  turned  to  Connie :  "If  you  can't  behave  your- 
self, I'll  have  to  send  you  from  the  table." 

"That's  it  1"  wailed  Connie.  "That's  it!  Blame 
everything  on  to  me !" 

Mrs.  Blair  looked  severely  at  her,  and  Connie's 
face  reddened.  She  glanced  angrily  at  her  mother 
and  began  again: 

"Well,  I—" 

The  judge  rapped  the  table  smartly  witK  his 
knuckles. 

"Now  I  want  this  stopped!"  he  said.     "And 

;6o 


THE  SEKEKADE 

right  away.  If  it  isn't  I'll — ^"  He  was  about  to 
say  if  it  wasn't  he  would  clear  the  room,  as  ho  was 
fond  of  saying  whenever  the  idle  spectators  in  his 
court  showed  signs  of  being  human,  but  he  did 
not  finish,  his  sentence.  Chad  was  subdued  and 
decorous,  and  Connie  drooped  her  head,  and  began 
to  gulp  her  food.  Her  eyes  were  filling  with  tears 
and  the  tears  began  to  fall,  slowly,  one  by  one, 
splashing  heavily  into  her  plate. 

Lavinia  was  trembling ;  she  tried  to  control  her- 
self, tried  to  lift  her  glass,  but  when  she  did,  her 
hand  shook  so  that  the  water  was  likely  to  spill. 
This  completed  the  undoing  of  her  nerves,  her 
eyes  suddenly  flooded  with  tears,  and  she  snatched 
her  handkerchief  from  her  lap,  rose  precipitately, 
and  hurried  from  the  room,  dropping  her  napkin 
as  she  went.  They  heard  her  going  up  the  stairs, 
and  presently  the  door  of  her  room  closed. 

Connie  had  followed  Lavinia  with  her  misty 
eyes  as  she  left  the  table  and  now  she  too  pre- 
pared to  leave.  She  felt  a  sudden  pity  springing 
from  her  great  love  of  her  older  sister,  and  her 
great  pride  in  her,  and  she  felt  a  contrition,  though 
she  tried  to  convict  Chad,  as  the  latest  object  of  her 
fiery  and  erratic  temper,  by  glowering  at  him. 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

"I'll  go  to  her/'  she  said,  "/  can  comfort  her !" 

"No,  stay  where  you  are,"  said  her  mother. 
"Just  leave  her  alone." 

The  evening  light  of  the  summer  day  flooded 
into  the  dining-room ;  outside  a  robin  was  singing. 
In  the  room  there  was  constraint  and  heavy  si- 
lence, broken  only  by  the  slight  clatter  of  the  silver 
or  the  china.     But  after  a  while  the  judge  spoke : 

"Did  Lavinia  go  to  the  picnic  with  young  Mar- 
ley?"  he  asked.  He  regretted  instantly  that  he 
had  revived  the  topic  that  had  given  rise  to  the  diffi- 
culty, but  as  it  lay  on  the  minds  of  all,  it  was  im- 
possible, just  then,  to  escape  its  influence. 

"I  believe  so,"  said  Mrs.  Blair.  "He  really 
seems  like  a  nice  young  man." 

The  judge  scowled. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "He's  in  the  office  of 
Wade  Powell — I  suppose  he  is  the  one,  isn't  he  ?" 
He  thought  it  unbecoming  that  a  judge  should  show 
an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  relations  of  young 
men  who  were  merely  studying  law. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Chad,  maintaining  his  own  dig- 
nity. 


THE  SEKEKADE 

"Everybody  seems  to  speak  well  of  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Blair. 

"But  I  can't  quite  reconcile  that  with  his  select- 
ing Wade  Powell  as  a  preceptor.  I  would  hardly 
consider  his  influence  the  best  in  the  world,  and  I 
would  imagine  that  Doctor  Marley  would  hold  to 
the  same  opinion." 

Judge  Blair  spoke  with  a  certain  disappoint- 
ment in  Doctor  Marley.  He  had  gone  to  hear  him 
preach  once  or  twice,  and  found,  as  he  said,  an 
intellectual  quality  in  his  utterances  that  he  missed 
in  the  sermons  Mr.  Hill  had  been  preaching  for 
twenty  years  in  the  Presbyterian  church. 

"Perhaps  he  doesn't  know  Wade  Powell,"  said 
Mrs.  Blair.  "Doctor  Marley  is  comparatively  a 
stranger  here,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  presume  that  explains  it.  But — "  he 
shook  his  head.  He  could  not  forgive  any  one  who 
showed  respect  for  Wade  Powell.  "Powell  has  lit- 
tle business  except  a  certain  criminal  practice,  and 
now  and  then  a  personal  injury  case." 

"Is  there  anything  wrong  in  personal  injury 
eases?"  asked  Mrs.  Blair. 

The  judge  looked  at  his  wife  in  surprise. 

63 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

''Well,  I  suppose  you  know,  don't  you/'  he  said, 
"that  such  cases  are  taken  on  contingent  fees?" 
He  spoke  with  the  natural  judicial  contempt  of  the 
poor  litigant. 

"Of  course,  dear,"  she  replied,  "I  shall  not  un- 
dertake to  defend  Mr.  Powell.     He's  a  wild  sort." 

"Yes;  a  drunkard,  practically,"  said  Judge 
Blair,  "and  an  infidel  besides.  The  moral  en- 
vironment there  is  certainly  not  one  for  a  young 
man — " 

"Is  he  really  an  infidel?''  asked  Mrs.  Blair, 
abruptly  dropping  her  knife  and  fork. 

"Well,"  replied  the  judge  with  the  judicial  af- 
fectation of  fairness,  "he's  at  least  a  free-thinker. 
Perhaps  agnostic  were  the  better  word.  That  is 
one  reason  why  I  can  not  understand  Doctor  Mar- 
ley's  permitting  his  son  to  be  associated  with  him. 
It  seems  to  me  to  argue  a  weakness,  or  a  lack  of 
observation  in  the  doctor,  as  it  does  a  certain  de- 
pravity of  taste  in  his  son." 

They  discussed  Marley  until  the  meal  was  done, 
and  Connie  and  Chad  had  gone  out  of  doors. 
Judge  Blair  followed  his  wife  into  the  sitting- 
room. 

U 


THE  SEKENADE. 

"Fm  worried,  I'll  admit,"  said  tlie  judge. 
"What  could  it  have  been  that  so  distressed  her  ?" 

"Oh  well,  the  children's  little  quarrels  were  too 
much  for  her  nerves." 

"I  suppose  so." 

They  were  silent  and  thoughtful,  sitting  together, 
rocking  gently  in  their  chairs  as  the  twilight  stole 
into  the  room. 

"It's  too  bad  he's  going  to  study  law,"  the  judge 
said  after  a  while. 

He  shook  his  gray  head  dubiously. 

"But  you  always  say  that  about  any  one  who's 
going  to  study  law,"  Mrs.  Blair  argued.  "You 
even  said  it  about  George  Halliday  when  his  father 
took  him  into  partnership." 

"Well,  it's  bad  business  nowadays  unless  a 
young  man  wants  to  go  to  the  city,  and  it's  hard 
to  get  a  foothold  there." 

"But  you  began  as  a  lawyer,"  she  urged,  as 
though  he  had  finished  as  something  else. 

"It  was  different  in  my  day." 

"And  you've  always  done  well  in  the  law,"  Mrs. 
Blair  went  on,  ignoring  his  distinction. 

"Oh  yes,"  the  judge  said  in  a  tone  that  expressed 

65 


THE  HAPPY  AVEBAGE 

a  sense  of  individual  exception.  "But  I  went  on 
tlie  bench  just  in  time  to  save  my  bacon.  There's 
no  telling  what  might  have  become  of  us  if  I  had  re- 
mained in  the  practice.'' 

They  were  silent  long  enough  for  him  to  feel 
the  relief  he  had  always  found  in  his  salaried  po- 
sition, and  then  he  said: 

"You  don't  suppose — " 

"Oh,  certainly  not !"  his  wife  hastened  to  assure 
him. 

"Well,  I  think  it  would  be  well,  perhaps,  to 
watch  her  closely.     I  don't  just  like  the  notion." 

"But  his  father  is—" 

"Yes,  but  after  all,  we  really  know  nothing 
about  him." 

"That  is  true." 

"And  then  Lavinia's  so  young." 

"Yes." 

"I'd  go  to  her." 

"After  a  while,"  Mrs.  Blair  said. 

They  heard  steps  on  the  veranda,  and  then  the 
voices  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chenowith  who  had  run 
across,  as  Mrs.  Chenowith  said,  when  Mrs.  Blair 
met  them  in  the  darkness  that  filled  the  wide  hall, 

66 


THE  SEKEISTADE 

to  see  how  they  all  were.  The  Chenowiths  begged 
Mrs.  Blair  not  to  light  the  gas;  they  preferred 
to  sit  out  of  doors.  The  Chenowiths  remained  all 
the  evening.  When  they  had  gone,  the  judge  drew 
the  chairs  indoors,  while  Mrs.  Blair  rolled  up 
the  wide  strip  of  red  carpet  that  covered  the  steps 
of  the  veranda.  And  when  they  had  gone  up  to 
their  room,  Mrs.  Blair  stole  across  to  Lavinia, 
softly  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

She  found  the  girl  stretched  on  her  bed,  her  face 
buried  in  the  pillows,  which  were  wet  with  her 
tears. 

"What  is  troubling  my  little  girl?"  she  asked. 
She  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  lightly 
stroked  Lavinia's  soft  hair.  The  girl  stirred,  and 
drew  herself  close  to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Blair  did 
not  speak,  but  continued  to  stroke  her  hair,  and 
waited.     Presently  Lavinia  cried  out: 

"Oh,  mama!  mama!" 

And  then  she  was  in  her  mother's  arms,  weep- 
ing on  her  mother's  breast. 

"IVe  never  kept  anything  from  you  before, 
mama,"  Lavinia  cried. 


:6T 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

"ITo,"  Mrs.  Blair  whispered.  "Can't  you  tell 
iDiama  now  V 

And  then  with  her  mother's  arms  ahont  her  La- 
vinia  told  her  all.  When  she  had  finished  she 
lay  tranquilly.  Mrs.  Blair  was  relieved  and  yet 
her  troubles  had  hut  grown  the  more  complicated. 
She  saw  all  the  intricate  elements  with  which  she 
would  have  to  deal,  and  she  quailed  before  them, 
realizing  what  tact  would  be  required  of  her. 

"The  coming  of  love  should  be  a  time  of  joy, 
dear,"  she  said  presently.  Even  in  the  darkness, 
she  could  see  the  white  blur  of  Lavinia's  face 
change  its  expression.    A  smile  had  touched  it. 

"It  should,  shouldn't  it,  mama  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"But  I  never  kept  anything  from  you  before." 

Mrs.  Blair  laughed. 

"But  you  kept  this  only  a  day,  dear.  That 
doesn't  count." 

"It  was  a  long  day." 

"I  know,  sweetheart"  The  mother  kissed  Her, 
and  they  were  silent  a  while. 

"I  do  love  him  so,"  said  Lavinia,  presently. 
"And  you'll  love  him  too,  mama,  I  know  you  will." 


THE  SEREITADE 

"I*m  sure  of  that,  dear." 

''But  what  of  papa  V 

Mrs.  Blair  felt  the  girl  grow  tense  in  her  arms. 

"That  will  all  come  right  in  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Blair. 

"Will  you  tell  him?" 

"!N'ot  just  now,  dear.  We'll  have  this  for  a  little 
secret  of  our  own.  There's  plenty  of  time.  You 
are  young,  you  know,  and  so  is  Glenn." 

"I  love  to  hear  you  call  him  Glenn." 

Mrs.  Blair  remained  with  Lavinia  until  she  had 
tucked  her  into  her  bed. 

"Just  my  little  child,"  the  mother  whispered 
over  the  girl.     "Just  my  little  child." 

"Yes,  always  that,"  said  Lavinia.  And  her 
mother  kissed  her  again  and  again,  and  left  her  in 
the  dark. 

When  Mrs.  Blair  rejoined  her  husband,  he  laid 
down  the  book  he  always  read  before  retiring,  and 
looked  up  with  the  question  in  his  eyes. 

"She's  just  a  little  nervous  and  tired,"  Mrs. 
Blair  said.  "She'll  be  all  right  in  the  morning. 
I  think  it  best  not  to  notice  her." 


THE  HAPPY  AYEEAGE 

"Do  you  think  we'd  better  have  Doctor  Pierce 

see  her  V* 

"Oh,  not  at  all!"  Mrs.  Blair  laughed,  and  the 
judge,  reassured,  went  back  to  his  book. 

They  were  awakened  from  their  first  doze  that 
night  by  voices  singing. 

"It's  some  of  the  darkies  from  Gooseville,"  said 
Mrs.  Blair.     "They're  out  serenading." 

"Yes,"  said  the  judge.  "It  is  sweet  to  fall 
asleep  by." 

At  the  sound  of  the  singing  Lavinia  had  crept 
from  her  bed  and  crouched  in  her  white  night-dress 
before  the  open  window ;  the  shutters  were  closed. 
She  heard  the  melody  from  far  down  the  street. 
The  singing  ceased,  then  began  again,  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer.  Presently  she  heard  the  fall  of 
feet  on  the  sidewalk  before  the  house,  and  the  low 
tones  of  voices  in  hurried  consultation.  And  then 
a  clear  baritone  voice  rose,  and  she  heard  it  begin 
the  song : 

"Oh  the  &un  shines  bright  in  my  old  Kentucky 

home, 
'Tis  smnmer,  the  darkies  are  gay." 

She  knew  the  voice.    Her  heart  swelled  and  the 

ro 


THE  SEEEISTADE 

tears  came  again  and  there  alone  in  the  fragrant 
night  she  opened  her  arms  and  stretched  them  out 
into  the  darkness. 


7i 


CHAPTER  VI 


I.OVE  S  AEKEAES 


The  days  following  the  picnic  had  been  no 
easier  for  Marley  than  they  had  been  for 
Lavinia.  As  he  looked  back  on  that  night,  a 
fear  took  hold  of  him ;  the  whole  experience,  the 
most  wonderful  of  his  life,  grew  more  and  more  un- 
real. Much  as  he  longed  to  see  Lavinia  again,  he 
was  afraid  to  go  to  her  home ;  he  wondered  whether 
he  should  write  her  a  note;  perhaps  she  would 
think  him  false,  perhaps  she  would  think  he  had 
already  forgotten  her ;  the  idea  tormented  him ;  he 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  He  had  seen  her  but 
once,  and  then  at  a  distance ;  the  Blairs'  well-known 
surrey  had  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  Square, 
and  George  Halliday  stood  leaning  into  the  car- 
riage chatting  with  Lavinia.  Marley  had  but  a 
glimpse  of  Lavinia's  face,  pink  in  the  shadow  of 

72 


LOVE'S  ARREARS 

the  surrey-top.  As  they  drove  away  she  had 
turned  with  a  smile  and  a  nod  at  Halliday.  The 
sight  had  affected  Marley  strangely. 

He  felt  himself  so  weak  and  incapable  in  this 
affair  that  he  longed  to  discuss  it  with  some  one. 
and  on  Sunday  afternoon  he  found  his  mother  at 
her  window  with  the  Christian  Advocate,  which 
replaced,  in  her  case,  the  nap  nearly  every  one 
else  took  at  that  hour. 

"How  old  was  father  when  you  were  married, 
mother  ?"  he  began. 

He  spoke  out  of  that  curious  ignorance  of  the 
lives  of  their  parents  so  common  to  children;  he 
had  never  been  able  to  realize  his  parents  as  hav- 
ing separate  and  independent  existences  before  his 
own.  Mrs.  Marley  laid  her  paper  by,  and  a  smile 
came  to  her  face. 

"He  was  twenty-two,"  she  said. 

"Just  my  age,"  observed  Marley. 

Mrs.  Marley  looked  up  hastily. 

"You're  not  thinking  of  getting  married,  are 
you,  Glenn?"  she  asked. 

"l!^o,"  he  said  with  a  laugh. 

"My  goodness!    You're  just  a  boyP 

73 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

"But  Pm  as  old  as  father  was.'' 

"Y — es/'  said  Mrs.  Marlej,  ''but  then — " 

"But  then,  what  V 

"That  was  different" 

Marley  smiled. 

"Had  father  entered  the  ministry  yet  ?"  he  said 
presently. 

"Yes,  we  were  married  in  his  first  year.  He 
had  been  teaching  school,  and  the  fall  he  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  conference  he  was  sent  out  to  the 
Gibsonburg  circuit  in  Green  County.  We  were 
married  in  the  spring." 

Her  face  flushed,  and  she  turned  the  pages  of  her 
paper  with  a  dreamy  deliberation. 

"Ah,  but  your  father  was  a  handsome  young 
man,  Glenn !"  she  said  presently. 

"He's  handsome  yet,"  Marley  replied  with  the 
pride  he  always  felt  in  his  father.  And  then  he 
asked : 

"Did  he  have  any  money  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  she  laughed,  "just  a  hun- 
dred dollars!" 

"A  hundred  dollars !  Well,  he  had  nerve,  didn't 
he  ?    And  so  did  you !" 

74 


LOVE'S  AEREAES 

"We  had  more  than  that,"  said  Mrs.  Marley, 
solemnly. 

Marlej  looked  at  his  mother  suddenly.  Her 
face  seemed  for  an  instant  to  be  transfigured  in 
the  afternoon  glow. 

He  might  have  told  her  then;  he  was  on  the 
point  of  it,  but  a  footfall  on  the  brick  walk  out- 
side caused  him  to  look  up,  and  he  saw  Lawrence 
coming  into  the  yard.  Lawrence  beckoned  him  and 
he  went  out. 

"Come  on,"  said  Lawrence.  "Let's  go  out  to 
Carters'." 

Marley  looked  a  question  at  him,  and  the  smile 
which  Lawrence  never  could  repress  long  at  a  time 
was  twitching  at  the  corners  of  his  large  mouth. 

"She'll  be  there." 

"How  do  you  know  ?"  asked  Marley. 

Lawrence  smiled  a  little  more  significantly. 

When  they  got  to  the  Carters'  they  found  Mayme 
and  Lavinia  together  in  the  yard,  strolling  about 
in  apparent  aimlessness,  yet  with  an  expectancy 
in  their  manner  that  belied  its  quality  of  mere  idle- 
ness. In  the  look  Lavinia  gave  him  all  of  Marley's 
perplexities  vanished.     Lawrence  stood  by  with  a 

75 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

grin  on  his  red  face,  and  Mayme  Carter's  eyes 
danced.  Slie  and  Lawrence  assumed  almost  imme- 
diately an  elder,  paternal  manner,  and  looked  on 
at  tlie  lovers'  meeting  as  from  far  heights  that 
were  to  be  reached  only  after  all  snch  youthful 
experiences  had  long  since  become  possible  in  ret- 
rospect alone.  Still  smiling,  they  edged  away,  and 
left  the  lovers  alone. 

"Is  it  really  true  V^  Marley  asked. 

Lavinia  colored  a  little  as  she  smiled  up  at  him. 

"And  you  are  happy?"  he  asked. 

"So  happy !"  she  said. 

And  then  all  at  once  a  cloud  came  over  her  eyes. 
She  closed  them  an  instant. 

"What  is  it  ?"  he  asked  in  alarm. 

"Nothing." 

"Tell  me." 

"It's  nothing."    She  was  smiling  again,  as  if  to 
show  that  her  happiness  was  complete.     "See  ?" 
Her  eyes  were  blinking  rapidly. 
'     "Fm  glad,"  he  said. 

As  they  turned  and  walked  across  the  yard  Mar- 
ley  looked  at  her  nervously. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "that  I  couldn't  re- 

76 


LOVE'S  AREEAES 

member  what  color  your  eyes  were?"  He  spoke 
with  all  the  virtue  there  is  in  confession. 

"What  color  are  they  ?''  she  asked,  suddenly  clos- 
ing her  eyes. 

"They're  blue,"  Marley  replied,  saying  the  word 
ecstatically,  as  if  it  had  a  new,  wonderful  meaning 
for  him. 

"Connie  says  they're  green." 

"Connie  ?" 

"Yes,  don't  you  know?  She's  my  younger  sis- 
ter." 

"Oh."  He  did  not  know  any  of  her  family,  and 
the  baffling  sense  of  unreality  came  over  him  again. 

"You'll  know  her,"  said  Lavinia,  and  added 
thoughtfully :  "I  hope  she'll  like  you.  Then  there's 
Chad,  my  little  brother." 

Marley  was  growing  alarmed  at  the  intricacies 
of  an  introduction  into  a  large  family,  the  charac- 
ters of  which  were  as  yet  like  the  characters  in 
the  first  few  chapters  of  a  novel,  but  he  thought  it 
would  not  reflect  on  him  to  admit  that  he  did  not 
know  Chad,  seeing  that  he  was  merely  a  little 
brother. 

"He  admires  you  Immensely,"  said  Lavinia. 

77 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE, 

"Does  he  ?"  said  Marlev,  eagerly,  instantly  lov- 
ing Chad.    "How  does  he  know  me  ?" 

"He  says  you  were  a  football  player  at  college.'' 
Marley  laughed  a  modest  deprecation  of  his  own 
prowess. 

"But  I  knew  your  voice,"   said  Lavinia. 
"Did  you?     When  did  you  hear  it?" 
"As  if  you  didn't  know!" 
"Honestly,"  he  protested.     "Tell  me." 
"Why, that  night  that  you  serenaded  me." 
He  was  regretting  that  she  had  outdone  him  in 
observation,  but  she  suddenly  looked  up  and  said: 
"Oh,  Glenn !  What  a  beautiful  voice  you  have !" 
It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called  him 
Glenn,  and  it  produced  in  him  a  wonderful  sen- 
sation. 

They  had  come  to  a  little  bench,  and,  sitting 
there,  they  could  only  look  at  each  other  and  smile. 
Marley  noticed  that  a  little  line  of  freckles  ran  up 
over  the  bridge  of  Lavinia's  nose.  They  were  very 
beautiful,  he  thought,  and  yet  he  had  never  heard 
of  freckles  as  one  of  the  elements  of  a  woman's 
beauty.  Then  he  leaned  back  and  looked  about  the 
yard. 

IS 


LOVE'S  AKEEAKS 

He  had  always  thought  of  it  as  it  seemed  that 
first  night,  enormous,  enchanted,  with  wide  ter- 
races and  fountains,  and  white  statues  gleaming 
through  the  green  shrubbery.  But  now  he  saw  no 
terraces,  no  statuary,  no  fountains,  and  no  wide 
lawns ;  nothing  but  a  cramped  little  yard  crowded 
with  bushes  and  trees,  and  surrounded  by  a  weath- 
ered fence  that  had  lost  several  pickets.  He  looked 
around  behind  the  house  where  he  had  fancied  long 
stables  with  big  iron  lamps  over  the  doors,  but 
now  he  saw  nothing  but  an  old  woodshed  and  a 
barn  on  the  rear  end  of  the  lot  The  cracks  in  the 
barn  were  so  wide  that  he  could  see  the  light  of  day 
between  them  as  through  a  kinetoscope.  He  heard 
a  horse  stamping  fretfully  at  the  flies. 

"It  was  here,"  he  said,  "that  I  first  saw  you." 
He  did  not  speak  his  whole  thought. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.     "I  remember." 

"That  was  a  wonderful  night,  the  most  wonder- 
ful of  my  life,  except  the  one  at  the  lake." 

He  drew  close  to  her.  "I  loved  you  at  first 
sight,"  he  whispered. 

"Did  you  ?"    She  looked  at  him  in  reverence. 


79 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

^'Yes, — from  the  very  first  moment.  When  you 
came  into  the  room,  I  knew  that — '' 

^^What?'' 

"That  you  were  the  woman  I  had  always  loved 
and  waited  for ;  that  I  had  found  my  ideal.  And 
yet  they  say  we  never  discover  our  ideals  in  this 
life!" 

He  laughed  at  this  philosophical  absurdity. 

"What  did  you  think  then  V  he  asked. 

She  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  probed  the  turf 
with  the  toe  of  her  little  shoe. 

"I  loved  you  then  too." 

He  gazed  at  her  tenderly,  rapturously. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful?"  he  said  presently,  "this 
love  of  ours  ?     It  came  to  us  all  at  once !" 

She  looked  at  him  suddenly.  Her  short  upper 
lip  was  raised. 

"It  was  love  at  first  sight,  wasn't  it  V 

"Yes.    We  were  intended  for  each  other." 

They  sat  there,  and  went  over  that  first  night  of 
their  meeting  and  that  other  night  at  Greenwood 
Lake,  finding  each  moment  some  new  and  remark- 
able feature  of  their  love,  something  that  proved 
its  divine  and  providential  quality,  something  that 

80 


LOVE'S  AKEEARS 

convinced  them  that  no  one  before  had  ever  known 
such  a  remarkable  experience.  They  marveled  at 
the  mystery  of  it. 

But  at  last  they  must  return  to  practical  ques- 
tions, and  they  resumed  the  account  of  their  fam- 
ily relations.  Marley  told  Lavinia  about  his  father 
and  mother,  about  his  sister  who  had  died,  and  then 
about  his  grandparents,  and  his  uncles  and  aunts. 
He  told  her  even  of  Dolly,  behind  whom  she  had 
driven  to  Greenwood  Lake,  and  of  his  father's 
love  for  fast  horses,  a  love  which  sometimes  drew 
upon  his  father  the  criticism  parishioners  ever  have 
ready  for  their  pastor.  And  he  told  her  about  his 
home,  and  how  frequently  his  mother  had  to  en- 
tertain transient  ministers,  and  how  the  church  laid 
missionary  work  upon  her,  until  he  feared  the 
heathen  would  unwittingly  break  her  down. 

He  was  not  conscious  of  it,  but  he  felt  it  nec- 
essary to  bring  up  all  at  once  the  arrears  of  her 
knowledge  of  him  and  his  family,  of  all  his  af- 
fairs. Meeting  as  they  had  so  strangely,  so  ro- 
mantically, and  falling  in  love  at  first  sight,  accord- 
ing to  the  prearrangement  of  the  ages,  they  could 
excuse  this  otherwise  strange  ignorance  of  each 

81 


THE  HAPPY  AVEPAGE 

other's  lives.  They  bemoaned  all  the  years  they 
had  been  compelled  to  live  without  knowing  each 
other,  and  their  one  quarrel  with  fate  was  that 
they  had  had  to  wait  until  so  late  in  life  before 
meeting;  and  yet  tliey  finally  consoled  themselves 
for  this  deprivation  by  discovering  that  they  had 
really  always  known  and  loved  each  other.  They 
were  now  able  to  compare  strange  experiences  of 
soul  and,  in  the  new  light  they  possessed,  to 
identify  them  as  communings  of  their  spirits 
across  time  and  space. 

"I've  always  believed  somehow  in  the  Sweden- 
borgians,"  Lavinia  said,  ^^but  I  never  really  un- 
derstood before  what  they  meant  by  affinities." 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  a  silence  that 
became  somber,  and  was  broken  at  last  by  La- 
vinia. 

"I've  told  mama,"  she  said. 

"You  have  ?"  Marley  gasped. 

"Yes." 

"And  she— ?" 

"She  was  sweet  about  it  She  will  love  you. 
I  know." 


82 


LOVERS  ARREAKS 

Marley  felt  a  sudden  love  for  Lavinia's  motlier. 
And  then  his  fear  returned  at  Lavinia's  sinister , 

^^But— " 

"But  what  r 

"She  says  we  must  wait." 

"Oh !"  Marley  said  with  a  relief.  He  felt  their 
present  happiness  so  great  that  he  could  afford 
to  waive  any  claim  on  the  future.  And  yet  he 
was  troubled;  he  felt  that  somehow  a  depression 
lay  on  Lavinia,  He  wondered  what  its  cause  could 
be.     Presently  it  came  to  him  suddenly. 

"And  your  father  V^  he  asked. 

"He  doesn't  know — ^yet." 

"Will  he— ?" 

"He's  very — "  she  hesitated,  not  liking  to  seem 
disloyal  to  her  father.  Finally  she  said  "pecu- 
liar," and  then  further  qualified  it  by  adding 
"sometimes." 

The  sadness  that  lies  so  near  to  the  joy  in  lovers' 
hearts  came  over  them,  and  yet  they  found  a  kind 
of  joy  in  that  too. 

"I'll  go  to  him,  of  course,"  Marley  said  pres- 
ently. 

"Oh,  you're  so  brave !" 

83 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

But  this  tribute  did  uot  tend  to  reassure  Marley. 
It  rather  suggested  terrors  he  had  not  thought  of. 
Yet  in  the  necessity  of  maintaining  the  manly 
spirit  he  forced  a  laugh. 

"Of  course/'  he  continued,  "I'll  go  to  him.  I 
meant  to  from  the  first." 

"But  not  just  yet,"  she  pleaded. 

"Well,"  he  yielded,  not  at  all  unwillingly,  "it 
shall  be  as  you  say." 

He  could  not  dispel  her  sadness,  nor  could  he 
conquer  his  own.  A  little  tremor  ran  through  her, 
and  he  felt  it  electrically  along  his  arm. 

"What  is  it,  sweetheart?"  he  pleaded.  "Tell 
me,  won't  you?  We  must  have  no  secrets,  you 
know." 

"Oh,  Glenn,"  she  broke  out,  "Pm  afraid!" 

She  spoke  with  intuitive  apprehension. 

"Of  what?" 

"Our  happiness !" 

He  tried  to  laugh  again. 

"Do  you  think  it  will  ever  be  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  know  it,"  he  said  earnestly.  "I  have  nothing 
but  faith — our  love  is  strong  enough  for  any- 
thing!" 

'84 


LOVE'S  AEEEAKS 

^Tou  comfort  me,"  she  said  simply. 

Lavinia  spent  the  night  with  Mayme  Carter,  and 
lihe  house  sounded  until  long  after  midnight  with 
the  low,  monotonous  drone  of  their  confidenti^ 
voices. 


B5 


CHAPTEK  VII 

AN   UNNECESSARY   OPPOSITIOIT 

Marlej  heard  on  Monday  evening  that  Judge 
Blair  had  gone  to  Cincinnati,  and  the  news  filled 
him  with  a  high  if  somewhat  culpable  joy.  He 
found  Lavinia  and  her  mother  on  the  veranda, 
and  Lavinia  said,  with  a  grave  simplicity: 

"Mama,  this  is  Glenn." 

"I'm  very  glad  to  have  you  come,"  said  Mrs. 
Blair,  trying  instantly  to  rob  the  situation  of  the 
embarrassment  she  felt  it  must  have  for  the 
young  man. 

Marley  could  not  say  a  word,  but  he  put  all  his 
gratitude  in  the  pressure  he  gave  Mrs.  Blair's  hand. 
The  light  that  came  from  the  hall  was  dim,  and 
though  Mrs.  Blair  could  see  that  Marley  was 
straight  and  carried  himself  well,  his  face  was 
blurred  by  the  shadows.     She  turned  to  Lavinia. 

86 


AN  JJNNECE88ARY  OPPOSITION 

"Will  you  bring  out  another  chair,  dear,  or 
would  you  prefer  to  go  indoors  ?" 

Then,  seeing  an  advantage  in  this  latter  alter- 
native, she  decided  for  them : 

"Perhaps  we'd  better  go  in,  I  fear  it's  cool 
out  here." 

She  held  back  the  screen  door  and  Lavinia 
whisked  excitedly  into  the  hall.  Mrs.  Blair  led 
the  way  to  the  parlor  and  sent  Lavinia  for  a  match. 
Then,  turning  to  Marley,  waiting  there  in  the  dark- 
ness, she  said: 

"She  has  told  me,  Glenn." 

Marley  felt  something  tender,  maternal  in  her 
voice;  the  way  she  spoke  his  name  affected  him. 

"But  she  is  young,  very  young;  she  is  just  a 
girl.  We  wish,  of  course,  for  nothing  but  her  hap- 
piness, and  you  must  be  patient,  very  patient.  It 
must  not  be,  if  it  is  to  be,  for  a  long  time.  What 
does  your  own  mother  think  of  it  ?" 

"I  haven't  told  her." 

"You  haven't !" 

"No.  I  felt  I  hardly  had  the  right  yet — ^not 
before  I  spoke  to  Judge  Blair,  you  know.    I  think 


87 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

I  shall  speak  to  him  just  as  soon  as  lie  gets  home." 
He  spoke  impulsively;  until  that  moment  he  had 
been  thrusting  the  thought  from  him,  but  Mrs. 
Blair's  manner  led  him  into  confidences.  In  the 
immediate  fear  that  he  had  been  precipitant^  he 
looked  to  her  for  help ;  she  seemed  the  sort  of  wo- 
man to  wish  to  save  others  all  the  trouble  she 
could,  one  whose  life  was  full  of  sacrifices,  none 
the  less  noble,  perhaps,  because  she  made  so  little 
of  them  herself.  But  a  perplexity  showed  in  her 
eyes  and  before  she  could  reply,  Lavinia  was 
back.  With  an  intimate,  domestic  impulse  Lavinia 
pressed  the  match  into  Marley's  hand,  and  said: 

'^ou  do  it;  I  can't  reach." 

Marley  groped  with  his  upheld  hand,  and  when 
Lavinia  guided  him  to  the  middle  of  the  room,  he 
lighted  the  gas.  Mrs.  Blair  looked  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment and  Lavinia,  standing  by,  as  if  awaiting  her 
decision,  glowed  with  happiness.  Mrs.  Blair's 
smile  complet>ed  the  fond,  maternal  impression 
Marley  had  somehow  felt  when  she  was  standing 
by  him  in  the  darkness.  Her  full  matronly  figure, 
even  in  the  tendency  to  corpulence  of  her  middle 
years,  had  preserved  its  graceful  lines ;  and  Marley 

88 


A:Nr  U:^NECESSARY  OPPOSITION" 

regretted  the  disappearance  of  this  wholesome, 
cheerful  woman  as  she  passed  out  of  the  room. 

Judge  Blair  got  home  from  Cincinnati  on  Sun- 
day morning,  worn  by  his  work,  and  maddened  by 
the  din  of  the  city  to  which  he  was  so  unaccus- 
tomed. Walking  up  the  familiar  streets,  he  had  been 
glad  of  their  shade  and  that  pervading  sense  of  a 
Sunday  that  still  remains  a  Sabbath  in  Macochee. 
He  had  been  a  little  piqued,  at  first,  because  his 
wife  had  not  met  him  at  the  train,  though  she 
had  not,  to  be  sure,  knowm  that  he  was  coming. 
She  had  gone  to  Sunday-school,  and  Connie  gave 
him  his  breakfast — that  is,  she  sat  at  the  table 
with  him,  watching  him  eat  and  answering  the 
questions  he  put  to  her  about  the  happenings  in 
Macochee  while  he  had  been  away. 

It  was  not  strange  that  Connie  should  talk  most- 
ly, after  she  yielded  to  the  gnawing  temptation  to 
tell  him  at  all,  of  the  nightly  visits  Marley  had 
made  to  the  house.  She  did  this  in  a  certain  re- 
sentment she  felt  with  Lavinia,  a  resentment  that 
came  from  an  annoying  jealousy  she  was  beginning 
to  have  of  Marley,  as  if,  in  installing  himself  in 


89 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

her  sister's  heart,  he  had  evicted  all  other  affeo- 
tions  from  it. 

The  judge,  with  his  constant  affectation  of  what 
he  considered  the  judicial  attitude  of  mind,  tried 
to  weigh  Connie's  somewhat  prejudiced  evidence 
impartially,  but  he  was  troubled  and  annoyed  that 
the  peace  he  had  been  looking  forward  to  all  the 
week  should  be  jeopardized  immediately  on  his 
coming  home. 

It  was  not  until  afternoon  that  he  had  an  op- 
portunity  to  question  his  wdfe,  and  he  began  with  a 
severity  in  his  attitude  that  had  as  its  fundamental 
cause,  as  much  as  anything  else,  her  failure  to 
meet  him  at  the  train  that  morning,  and  her  re- 
maining to  church  after  Sunday-school. 

"What  do  you  know  about  this  business  between 
Lavinia  and  that  young  Marley?"  he  asked.  "It 
seems  to  have  developed  rapidly  during  my  ab- 
sence." 

"Oh,  Connie  has  been  talking  to  you,  I  suppose !" 
laughed  Mrs.  Blair.  "You  know  that  Connie  is 
apt  to  be  sensational." 

Judge  Blair  eyed  his  wife  narrowly.  Connie 
was  his  favorite  child,  though  he  would  not,  of 

90 


AN  TTISTNECESSARY  OPPOSITIOJST 

course,  admit  as  much,  and  he  was  ever  ready  to 

spring  to  her  defense. 

"She  has  very  bright  eyes/'  he  said. 

"Oh,  now,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Blair,  "don't  over- 
estimate this  thing.  Lavinia's  nothing  but  a  child." 

"That's  just  the  point.  Has  the  young  man  been 
here  much  ?" 

"Yes,  he  was  here  quite  often — several  evenings, 
in  fact." 

"Humph !  He  seems  to  have  taken  advantage  of 
the  sunshine  of  my  absence  to  make  his  hay." 

"Don't  do  him  an  injustice.  He  didn't  meet 
Lavinia  until  just  about  the  time  you  went  away." 

"Well,  we'll  see  about  it,"  said  the  judge,  darkly. 

"Now  see  here.  Will,  don't  make  the  matter  se- 
rious by  an  unnecessary  opposition;  don't  drive 
the  children  into  a  position  where  they  will  con- 
sider themselves  persecuted  lovers." 

Mrs.  Blair  had  not  until  that  instant  thought  of 
this  argument,  and  she  was  so  pleased  with  it,  as 
justifying  her  own  course  with  the  children,  as  she 
had  artfully  called  them,  that  she  pressed  it 

"No,  don't  do  that.  Just  let  them  alone.  They're 
as  likely  as  not  to  outgrow  it;  that  is,  if  there  ia 

91 


THE  happy;  avekage. 

anything  between  them  to  outgrow.  They'll  pro- 
bably imagine  themselves  in  love  a  dozen  times  be- 
fore either  of  them  is  married." 

"Don't  talk  of  marriage!"  said  the  judge,  with 
a  little  shudder. 

Mrs.  Blair,  who  had  so  well  dispelled  her  own 
fears,  could  laugh  at  her  husband's. 

"Just  let  them  alone,"  she  said ;  "or  leave  it  to 
me." 

"Yes,"  said  the  judge  peevishly,  "leave  it  to 
you.  You'd  probably  aid  and  abet  them."  And 
then,  instantly  regretting  his  ill  humor,  he  added 
hastily:  "You're  so  kind-hearted." 

Mrs.  Blair  kissed  his  white  hair  gently  and 
gave  his  cheek  a  little  pat. 

"You'd  better  take  a  nap,"  she  said. 


9« 


CHAPTER  YIII 


A    JUDICIAL    DECISIOIT/ 


The  judge  refused  to  take  a  nap,  tEougK 
when  he  sat  down  on  the  veranda  he  did  take 
one,  lying  back  in  his  chair  with  one  of  the 
many  sections  of  the  Sunday  paper  spread  over 
his  face.  It  was  from  this  somewhat  undignified 
posture  that  he  was  aroused  by  a  step ;  he  started 
up  hastily. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  young  man,  who 
stood  on  the  steps  twirling  his  straw  hat  round  and 
round  in  his  hands.  The  young  man  went  on  with 
an  anxious  smile: 

^^This  is  Judge  Blair,  I  presume  ?  My  name  is 
Marley — Glenn  Marley." 

If  Marley  had  known  that  there  were  men  then 
in  the  Ohio  penitentiary  serving  terms  that  were 
longer  by  years  than  they  would  have  been  had 

9a 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

Judge  Blair  digested  his  breakfast,  or  been  allowed 
to  finish  his  afternoon  nap,  he  would  have  chosen 
another  hour  to  press  his  suit.  But  he  had  jouth's 
sublime  confidence,  and  its  abiding  faith  in  tlie  ab- 
stract quality  of  justice.  He  had  dreaded  this 
moment,  but  it  had  forced  itself  upon  his  keen 
conscience  as  a  duty,  and  when  he  heard  that  morn- 
ing that  Judge  Blair  had  returned  he  resolved  to 
have  it  out  at  once. 

^'May  I  have  a  word  with  you  V^  he  asked,  ad- 
vancing a  little. 

The  judge  nodded,  but  slightly,  as  if  it  were 
necessary  for  him,  as  a  fattening  man  advanced  in 
middle  life,  to  conserve  his  energies.  His  nod 
seemed  to  include  not  only  an  assent,  however  reluc- 
tant, but  a  permission  as  well,  to  take  the  other 
chair  that  stood,  all  ready  to  rock  comfortably,  on 
the  veranda.  Marley  took  the  chair  but  he  did  not 
rock,  nor  did  he  yield  himself  to  it,  but  sat  some- 
what tensely  on  its  very  edge. 

^Tt's  warm  this  afternoon,  isn't  it?"  he  said,  try- 
ing to  keep  up  his  smile.  He  felt  hopeless  about  it, 
but  the  thought,  darting  through  his  mind,  that  La- 
vinia  was  near,  braced  his  purpose.    The  judge  sal 

H 


A  JUDICIAL  DECISIOIT 

hunched  in  his  chair,  with  his  short  white  hair 
tumbled  rather  picturesquely,  and  his  chin  low  in 
his  collar.  His  lips  were  set  firmly,  his  brows  con- 
tracted. He  breathed  heavily,  and  on  his  strong 
aquiline  nose,  Marley  could  see  tiny  drops  of 
perspiration. 

"I  have  come,"  said  Marley,  "to  speak  to  you, 
Judge  Blair,  on  a  matter  of,  that  is,  importance. 
That  is,  I  have  come  to  ask  you  if  I  might — ah — 
pay  my  addresses  to  your  daughter." 

Marley  thought  this  form  of  putting  it  rather 
fine,  and  he  was  glad  that  that  much  of  it,  at  least, 
was  over.  And  yet,  much  as  he  liked  this  old- 
fashioned  formula  about  paying  his  addresses,  he 
instantly  felt  its  inadequacy,  and  so  nerved  him- 
self to  do  it  all  over. 

"I  mean  Lavinia,"  he  said  hurriedly,  as  if  to 
correct  any  error  of  identification  he  might  have 
led  the  judge  into.     "I  want  to  marry  her." 

The  judge,  still  breathing  heavily,  looked  at 
Marley  out  of  his  narrowed  eyes. 

"You  know,"  Marley  said,  in  an  explanatory 
way,  "I  love  her." 

He  waited  then,  but  the  judge  was  motionless, 

95 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

even  to  the  hand  that  hung  at  his  side  over  the  arm 
of  his  chair,  still  holding  his  paper.  !N'ow  and 
then,  at  what  seemed  to  be  long,  unequal  intervals, 
his  eyelids  fell  slowly  in  heavy  winks. 

*^How  long  have  you  and  Lavinia  known  each 
other  ?"  he  asked  finally. 

"I  met  her  several  weeks  ago,  out  at  Captain 
Carter's.  But  I  did  not  see  her  again,  that  is  to 
speak  to  her,  until  about  a  week  ago.  In  one  way 
I  have  known  her,  you  might  say,  but  a  week ;  yet  I 
feel  that  I  have  known  her  a  long  time,  always,  in 
fact.  I — I — well,  I  loved  her  at  first  sight"  Mar- 
ley  dropped  his  face  at  this  speech,  for  it  seemed 
that  he  had  made  it  too  sentimental ;  he  had  a  feel- 
ing that  the  judge  so  regarded  it.  He  sat  and 
picked  at  the  braids  of  straw  in  his  hat. 

"And  have  you  spoken  to  her  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Oh  yes !"  said  Marley,  looking  up  quickly. 

"And  she— r 

"She  loves  me." 

The  judge  closed  his  eyes  as  if  in  pain.  Then 
he  stirred,  the  paper  dropped  from  his  fingers,  and 
he  drew  himself  up  in  his  chair,  as  if  to  deal  with 
the  matter. 


oe 


A  JXTDiClAL  DECISION 

"How  old  are  you,  Mr.  Marley  V^  he  inquired. 

"I  am  twenty-two,"  said  Marley,  confidently,  as 
if  this  maturity  must  incline  the  judge  in  his  fa- 
vor. "I  cast  my  first  vote  for  McKinley."  He 
thought  this,  too,  would  help  matters,  and  possibly 
it  did. 

"You  have  completed  your  education  ?" 

"I  graduated  this  summer  from  the  Ohio  Wes- 
leyan." 

"And  what  are  you  doing  now,  or  proposing  to 
do?" 

"Just  now,  I  am  studying  law,"  he  announced. 
"I'm  going  to  make  the  law  my  profession." 

Marley  looked  up  with  a  high  faith  in  this  final 
appeal,  but  even  that  did  not  impress  the  judge  as 
Marley  felt  a  tribute  thus  delicately  implied  should 
affect  him. 

"You  are  reading  with  a  preceptor,  I  take  it?" 

"Yes,  sir,  in  Mr.  Powell's  office." 

Judge  Blair  looked  at  Marley  as  if  he  were  de- 
ciding what  to  do  with  him.  After  he  had  looked 
a  while  he  gazed  off  across  the  street,  drumming 
with  his  finger-tips  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  Pres- 
ently, without  turning,  and  still  gazing  abstractedly 

97 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

into  the  distance — and  in  that  instant  Marley  re- 
membered that  he  had  seen  the  judge  stare  at  the 
ceiling  of  the  court  room  in  exactly  the  same  way 
while  sentencing  a  culprit — he  began  to  speak. 

'^Lavinia  is  yet  very  young,  Mr.  Marley/'  he 
said,  "with  no  knowledge  of  the  world,  and,  per- 
haps, little  of  the  state  of  her  own  mind.  You  too, 
are  young,  very  young,  and  as  yet  without  an  occu- 
pation. You  are,  it  is  true,  studying  law,  but  it 
will  be  three  years  before  you  can  be  admitted,  and 
many  years  after  that  before  you  can  command  a 
practice  that  would  warrant  you  in  marrying.  In 
this  day,  the  outlook  for  the  young  lawyer  is  not  en- 
couraging. I  do  not  think  I  would  wish  a  son  of 
mine  to  choose  that  profession;  the  great  changes 
that  have  transpired,  and  are  transpiring  in  our  in- 
dustrial development,  have  greatly  reduced  the 
chances  of  the  young  lawyer's  success.  The  prac- 
tice in  the  smaller  county-seats,  like  our  own,  for 
instance,  has  almost  entirely  vanished.  The  settle- 
ment of  titles  to  real  estate,  so  lucrative  a  branch  of 
the  law  in  the  early  days  of  my  own  practice,  has 
deprived  the  later  practitioners  of  that  source  of 
revenue ;  the  field  of  criminal  law  has  become  nar- 

98 


A  JUDICIAL  DECISIOiN" 

rowed,  unremunerative  and  almost  disreputable. 
The  corporation  work  can  be  handled  by  one  or  two 
firms  in  each  town,  and  all  that  seems  to  be  left  is 
the  prosecution  of  personal  injury  suits,  and  that 
is  a  work  that  hardly  appeals  to  the  man  of  dignity 
and  self-respect.  The  large  cities  have  a  wider,  I 
might  say,  the  only  field,  but  there  the  young  law- 
yer must  spend  years  of  the  hardest,  most  unremit- 
ting toil  before  he  can  come  to  anything  like  suc- 
cess." 

The  judge  paused.  He  had  not  intended  to 
speak  at  such  length,  but  the  habit  of  the  courts  was 
on  him,  and  once  started,  he  found  his  own  di- 
dacticism so  pleasing  to  himself,  that  it  was  with  re- 
luctance that  he  paused  at  all.  He  might  not  have 
stopped  when  he  did,  but  gone  on  almost  indefi- 
nitely, as  he  did  when  he  delivered  what  were  al- 
ways spoken  of  as  his  beautiful  charges  to  juries, 
had  he  not  recalled,  with  something  like  a  pang  of 
resentment,  that  the  happiness  of  his  own,  instead 
of  another's  child,  lay  at  the  bottom  of  all  this.  He 
turned  then  to  face  Marley.  The  young  man  was 
sitting  there,  his  eyes  wide,  and  his  face  long.  The 
color  that  flamed  in  it  when  he  first  appeared,  was 
now  quite  gone.    It  was  gray  and  cold  instead. 

99 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

"You  will  see,  Mr.  Marley/'  the  judge  resumed, 
"that  you  are  hardly  in  a  position  to  ask  for  my 
daughter's  hand.  Of  course,"  the  judge  allowed  a 
smile  to  soften  somewhat  the  fixity  of  his  lips,  "I 
appreciate  your  manliness  in  coming  to  me,  and  I 
do  not  want  to  be  understood  as  making  any  reflec- 
tions upon,  or  in  the  least  questioning,  your  charac- 
ter, your  worth,  or  the  honor  of  your  intentions. 
But  in  view  of  your  youth  and  of  Lavinia's,  and  in 
view  of  your  own,  as  je%  unsettled  position  in  life, 
you  must  see  how  impossible  it  is  that  anything  like 
an  engagement  should  subsist  between  you.  I  say 
this  because  I  wish  only  for  Lavinia's  happiness. 
I  may  say  that  I  am  not  unmindful  of  your  happi- 
ness, too,  and  I  esteem  it  my  duty  to  reach  the  con- 
clusions I  have  just  presented  to  you." 

"And  I — ^I  can  not  even  see  her?"  stammered 
Marley,  in  his  despair. 

"I  have  not  said  that,"  the  judge  said.  "I  shall 
always  be  pleased  to  extend  to  you  the  hospitality 
of  my  house,  of  course ;  but  I  would  not  consider  it 
necessary  for  you  to  see  her  regularly,  or  inti- 
mately, and  I  certainly  would  not  want  you  to  mo- 


100 


A  JUDICIAL  Decision  '"  ' 

nopolize  her  society  to  the  exclusion  of  other  young 
men  with  whom  she  has  been  in  the  habit  of  associ- 
ating." 

Marley  sat  there,  after  this  long  harangue,  with 
his  head  downcast.  He  sat  and  turned  his  hat  round 
and  round.  At  last  he  did  look  up  with  an  appeal 
in  his  eyes,  but  when  he  saw  that  the  judge  was  sit- 
ting there,  as  he  had  at  first,  sunk  in  his  chair, 
breathing  heavily  and  looking  at  him  out  of  those 
sluggish  eyes,  he  arose.  He  stood  a  moment,  and 
looked  off  across  the  street  somewhere,  anywhere. 
Then  he  smote  one  hand  lightly  into  the  other, 
turned,  and  said : 

"Well — ^good  afternoon,  Judge  Blair." 
"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Marley,"  the  judge  re- 
plied.   He  watched  Marley  go  down  the  walk  and 
out  of  the  gata 


101 


[CHAPTER  IX. 

A  I-ILIAL  EEBUKEr 

"Father!" 

'Judge  Blair  turned  and  saw  Lavlnia  standing 
in  the  wide  front  door.  Her  face  was  red,  her 
eyes  were  flashing,  her  arms  hung  straight  and 
■tense  at  her  sides. 

The  judge  stirred  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"Oh !"  she  cried,  rigidly  clenching  her  little  fists. 
'^What  have  you  done !    You  have  sent  him  away !" 

"Come  here,  my  daughter,"  he  said. 

Lavinia  moved  toward  him,  halting  each  mo- 
ment, then  taking  a  few  nervous  steps  forward. 
At  last  she  stood  before  him,  challenging,  defiant. 

"Sit  down,  Lavinia,  and  listen,"  implored  the 
judge. 

"You  have  sent  him  away !"  she  repeated.  "You 
were  harsh  and  cruel  and  unkind  to  him !" 

102 


A  FILIAL  EEBUKE 

"Lavinia!"  cried  the  judge,  flushing  with  the 
anger  parents  call  by  different  names.  There  was 
now  a  peremptory  quality  in  his  tone.  But  the 
girl  did  not  heed  him. 

"Oh,  how  could  you !"  she  went  on,  "how  could 
you!  Think  how  you  must  have  wounded  him! 
You  not  only  reproached  him  with  being  poor,  but 
you  discouraged  him  as  to  his  prospects !  Do  you 
think  I  cared  for  that?  Do  you  think  I  couldn't 
have  waited  ?  Do  you  think  I  can't  wait  anyhow  ? 
What  had  you  when  you  proposed  to  mama  ?  You 
were  poor — ^you  had  no  prospects;  you  had  no 
more  right — " 

"Lavinia!  Lavinia!"  the  judge  commanded, 
grasping  the  arms  of  his  chair  in  an  effort  to  rise. 
"You  are  beside  yourself!  You  don't  know  what 
you  are  saying!" 

"And  you  pretended  to  be  doing  it  all  for  my 
happiness,  too !  Oh !  oh !  oh !"  Her  anger  vented 
itself  impotently  in  these  exclamations,  and  then 
her  mother,  white  and  alarmed,  appeared  in  the 
doorway  behind  her. 

"Lavinia,"  she  said  quietly. 

The  girl  trembled  violently,  then  whirled  about, 

103 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE. 

pressed  her  hands  to  her  face,  and  ran  in,  brushing 
by  her  mother  in  the  doorway.  Mrs.  Blair  glanced 
after  her  irresolutely.  Then  she  went  to  her  hus- 
band. 

"Be  calm,  dear,"  she  said. 

The  judge  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at 
her  in  amazement 

"What  has  happened?"  She  drew  the  empty 
chair  up  and  sat  down  in  it.  She  leaned  forward 
and  took  one  of  his  hands,  and  pressed  it  between 
both  of  her  own.  She  waited  for  the  judge  to 
speak. 

"I  hardly  know,"  he  began.  "I  never  heard  La- 
vinia  break  out  so." 

"You  must  remember  how  excited  and  over- 
wrought she  is,"  Mrs.  Blair  exclaimed.  "You  must 
make  allowances." 

"I  didn't  know  the  girl  had  such  spirit,"  he  con- 
tinued. 

Mrs.  Blair  smiled  rather  wanly,  and  stroked  her 
hu£l)and's  hand.  It  was  very  cold  and  moist,  and 
it  trembled. 

"I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  serious,"  he  went  on,  as 
if  summing  up  the  catalogue  of  his  surprises. 

104 


A  FILIAL  EEBUKE. 

"Tell  me  how  it  all  came  about/'  said  Mrs. 
Blair. 

"Marley  was  here^  first,"  the  judge  began.  He 
had  to  pause,  for  he  seemed  to  find  it  difficult  to 
catch  his  breath.  "It  was  a  great  surprise  to  me; 
it  was  very  painful." 

The  judge  withdrew  his  hand  and  wiped  his 
brow.  Then  he  gazed  again  as  he  had  done  before, 
across  the  street.  Mrs.  Blair,  though  eying  him 
closely  and  with  concern,  waited  patiently. 

"I  didn't  wish  to  wound  him,"  the  judge  re- 
sumed, speaking  as  much  to  himseK  as  to  her.  "I 
Lope  I  said  nothing  harsh;  he  really  was  quite 
manly  about  it." 

He  paused  again. 

"I  presume  I  may  have  seemed  cold,  unfeeling, 
unsympathetic,"  he  went  on;  and  then  as  if  he 
needed  to  reassure  and  justify  himself,  he  added, 
"but  of  course  it  was  impossible,  utterly  impossi- 
ble." 

After  another  pause,  he  drew  a  deep  breath,  and 
as  if  he  had  already  outlined  his  whole  inter- 
view with  Marley,  continued: 


las 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

"And  then  Lavinia  appeared;  slie  must  have 
heard  it  all,  standing  there  in  the  hall." 

The  judge  leaned  heavily  against  the  hack  of  his 
hig  chair;  his  face  was  drawn,  his  wrinkles  were 
deeper  than  thej  had  been,  and  he  wore  an  aspect 
of  weariness  and  pain.  His  form,  too,  seemed  to 
have  shrunk,  and  he  sat  there  in  an  almost  help- 
less mass,  limp  and  inert. 

"I  am  only  afraid,  dear,"  Mrs.  Blair  said 
quietly,  "that  we  have  taken  this  thing  too  seri- 
ously." 

"Possibly,"  he  said.  "But  it  is  serious,  veiy 
serious.    I  don't  know  what  is  to  be  dona" 

"We  must  have  patience,"  Mrs.  Blair  counseled. 
"It  will  require  all  our  delicacy  and  tact,  now." 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  go  in  to  her,"  the  judge 
said  presently.  "Poor  little  girl;  she  is  passing 
through  the  deep  waters.  And  I  tried  to  act  only 
for  her  interest  and  happiness." 

Mrs.  Blair  arose. 

"She  will  see  that,  dear,  in  time." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  the  judga  Mrs.  Blair  went  up 
to  Lavinia's  room,  and  listened  for  a  moment  at  the 
closed  door.    She  heard  a  voice,  low  and  indistinct, 

106 


A  nUAL  EEBUKE 

but  she  knew  it  for  the  voice  of  Connie,  and  she 
could  tell  from  its  tone  that  the  little  girl  was  try- 
ing in  her  way  to  comfort  and  console  her  sister. 
So  she  stepped  away,  silently,  almost  stealthily, 
going  on  tiptoe. 

The  judge  sat  on  the  veranda  all  the  afternoon. 
He  scarcely  moved,  and  never  once  did  he  pick  up 
the  Sunday  paper.  !N'ow  and  then  he  bowed,  in  his 
dignified  way,  to  some  acquaintance  passing  in  the 
street.  The  Chenowiths  came  out  on  to  their  front 
porch,  evidently  hot  and  stupefied  from  their  Sun- 
day afternoon  naps  and  ready  now  for  the  cool  re- 
freshment of  the  evening  breeze  they  could  usually 
rely  on  in  Macochee  with  the  coming  of  the  eve- 
ning. The  judge  bowed  to  them,  and  he  tried  to 
put  into  his  bow  an  indolent  tmconoern,  lest  the 
Chenowiths  should  penetrate  his  manner  and  dis- 
cover the  trouble  that  lay  on  his  heart.  The  Chen- 
owiths had  gone  to  the  end  of  their  porch,  and  the 
judge  could  hear  their  laughter.  He  thought  it 
strange  and  unnatural  that  any  one  should  laugh. 

He  decided  that  he  would  review  this  whole  af- 
fair of  Lavinia's  love  calmly  and  judicially.  He 
went  back  to  the  beginning  of  Marley's  visit,  trying 

107 


THE  HAPPY  'AVERAGE. 

to  see  wherein  lie  himself  had  been  in  the  "wrong, 
then  he  went  over  the  hot  scene  with  Lavinia. 
He  could  not  recover  from  his  surprise  at  this; 
that  Lavinia,  who  was  usually  so  gentle,  so  mild, 
so  unselfish,  should  have  given  way  to  such  anger 
was  incomprehensible.  He  had  always  said  that 
she  had  her  mother's  disposition.  He  could  see 
her,  all  the  time,  distinctly,  as  she  had  stood  there, 
in  a  rage  he  had  never  known  her  to  indulge  be- 
fore, and  yet,  as  he  looked  at  the  image  of  her  that 
was  in  his  mind,  and  recalled  certain  expressions, 
certain  attitudes,  certain  tones  of  voice,  it  came 
over  him  all  at  once  that  she  was  exactly  as  her 
mother  had  been  at  her  age,  though  he  could  not 
reconcile  Lavinia's  mood  with  the  resemblance. 
Then  he  went  back  to  his  own  days  of  courtship, 
with  their  emotions,  their  uncertainties,  their 
doubts  and  illusions.  They  seemed  a  long  way  off. 
He  was  trying  to  think  calmly  and  logically, 
but  he  found  that  he  could  not  then  control  his 
mind,  for  suddenly  he  saw  Lavinia  as  a  little  girl, 
with  her  mother  kneeling  before  her,  shaking  out 
and  straightening  her  starched  frock.  And  with 
this  thought  came  the  revelation,  sudden,  irresist- 

108 


'K  FILIAL  REBUKE 

ible,  that  Lavinia  was  no  longer  a  child  as,  with 
the  habit  of  the  happy  years,  he  had  thought  of 
her,  up  to  that  very  afternoon,  in  fact,  until  an 
hour  ago,  and  he  bowed  before  the  changes  that 
hour  had  wrought.  He  accepted  the  conviction 
now  that  he  himself  had  grown  old.  He  forgot 
his  purpose  to  probe  to  its  first  cause  this  unhap- 
piness  that  had  come  to  him ;  he  saw  that  what  he 
mourned  was  the  loss  of  a  child,  the  loss  of  his 
own  youth. 

He  glanced  across  at  the  Chenowiths  again, 
and  they  seemed  remote  from  him,  of  another  gen- 
eration in  fact,  though  but  a  few  moments  before 
he  had  looked  on  them  as  contemporaries.  And 
then  suddenly  there  came  to  him  the  fear  that  Mr. 
Chenowith  might  run  over  to  chat  with  him,  as  was 
his  habit,  and  the  judge  hastily  rose,  and  almost 
surreptitiously  went  off  the  end  of  the  porch  and 
around  into  the  side  yard.  Under  the  new  impres- 
sion of  age  that  he  had  grown  into,  he  walked 
slowly,  with  a  senile  stoop,  and  dragged  his  feet 
as  he  went.  He  wandered  about  in  the  yard  for 
a  long  while,  looking  at  the  shrubs  and  bushes  and 
trees  he  had  planted  himself  so  long  ago,  when  he 

1Q9 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

was  young.  It  occurred  to  him  that  here  in  this 
garden  he  would  potter  around,  and  pass  his  de- 
clining years. 

He  remained  in  the  yard  until  his  wife  came 
to  call  him  in  to  the  supper  she  had  prepared,  in 
the  Sunday  evening  absence  of  the  hired  girl,  and 
with  an  effort  he  brought  himself  back  from  the 
future  to  the  present. 
.  "How  is  she  r 

"Oh,  she's  all  right,''  said  Mrs.  Blair,  in  her 
usual  cheery  tone.  "I  didn't  go  to  her,  I  thought 
it  best  to  leave  her  alone." 

The  judge  looked  at  his  wife,  with  her  rosy 
face,  and  her  full  figure  still  youthful  in  the  simple 
summer  gown  she  wore.  He  looked  at  her  curi- 
ously, wondering  why  it  was  she  seemed  so  young ; 
a  width  of  years  seemed  all  at  once  to  separate 
them.  Mrs.  Blair  noted  this  look  of  her  husband's. 
She  noted  it  with  pity  for  him;  he  looked  older 
to  her. 

"I  think  it  would  be  nice  for  you  to  take  Lar 
vinia  with  you  when  you  go  to  Put-in-Bay  to  the 
Bar  Association  meeting,"  she  said. 

It  seemed    strange  and    anomalous    to    Judge 

110 


A  FILIAL  REBUKE^ 

Blair  that  he  should  still  be  attending  Bar  Asso- 
ciation meetings. 

"I'll  see,"  he  said;  and  then  he  qualified,  "if 
I  go." 

"If  you  go?"  his  wife  exclaimed.  "Why, 
you're  down  for  a  paper!" 

"So  I  am,"  said  the  judge. 

They  turned  toward  the  house,  and  the  judge 
took  his  wife's  arm,  leaning  rather  heavily  on  it 

"Will!"  she  said,  after  they  had  gone  a  few 
steps  in  this  fashion.  "What  is  the  matter  with 
you!     You  walk  like  an  old  man!" 

She  shook  his  arm  off,  and  said ; 

"Hurry  up  now.  The  coffee  will  be  getting 
cold." 

Indoors,  they  passed  Connie  going  through  the 
hall;  she  had  just  come  down  the  stairs,  and  the 
sight  of  her  girlish  figure,  and  her  short  skirts 
just  sweeping  the  tops  of  her  shoes,  gladdened  the 
judge's  heart,  and  he  smiled.  He  could  rely  on 
Connie,  anyway,  for  sympathy.  But  the  girl 
gave  him  a  sharp  reproachful  stare  from  her  dark 
eyes,  and  the  judge  felt  utterly  deserted. 

Lavinia   did   not  come   down  to  her   supper, 

in 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGH 

ttougli  her  mother,  knowing  she  would  want  it 
latei*,  kept  the  coffee  warm  on  the  back  of  the 
kitchen  stove.  Chad  had  gone  away  with  one  of 
the  Weston  boys.  So  the  three,  the  judge,  Mrs. 
Blair  and  Connie,  ate  their  supper  alone. 

After  supper,  Mrs.  Blair  and  Connie  went  im- 
mediately to  Lavinia  and  the  judge  had  a  sense 
of  exclusion  from  the  mysteries  that  were  enacting 
up  there,  an  exclusion  that  seemed  to  proceed  from 
his  own  culpability.  He  went  to  his  library  and 
tried  to  read,  but  he  could  only  sit  with  his  head 
in  his  hand,  and  stare  before  him.  But  finally 
he  was  aroused  from  his  reveries  by  a  stir  in  the 
hall,  and  glancing  up  he  saw  Lavinia  in  the  door. 
She  came  straight  to  him,  and  said: 

"Forgive  me,  papa,  if  I  was  rude  and  unkind." 

He  seized  her  in  his  arms,  hugging  her  head 
against  his  shoulders,  and  he  said  again  and  again, 
while  stroking  her  hair  clumsily: 

''My  little  girl!     My  little  girll" 


112 


CHAPTER  X. 

PUT-IN-BAY' 

The  little  steamer  for  the  islands  rolled  out 
of  Sandusky  Bay  with  Lavinia  sitting  by  the 
forward  rail  She  had  yielded  to  her  father's 
wishes  with  an  easy  complaisance  that  made 
him  suspicious,  and  yet,  as  he  stood  solicit- 
ously by,  he  was  persistent  in  his  determin- 
ation to  realize  for  her  all  the  delights  he  had  so 
extravagantly  predicted  for  the  journey.  He  tried 
to  rouse  her  interest  by  pointing  out  Johnson's 
Island,  but  it  did  not  possess  for  her,  as  the  place 
where  the  Confederate  prisoners  were  confined  dur- 
ing the  war,  the  interest  an  old  soldier  was  able 
to  discover  in  it,  and  though  he  tried  his  best,  with 
an  effort  at  entertainment  that  was  well-nigh  pa- 
thetic, she  only  smiled  wanly. 

He  left  her,  after  a  while,  her  chin  in  her  hands, 

113 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

looking  over  into  the  light  green  waters,  watching 
the  curve  of  the  waves  the  steamer  tossed  awaj 
from  its  sharp  prow.  The  lake  was  in  one  of  its 
most  smiling  and  happy  moods,  though  they  were 
then  at  a  point  where  storms  easily  lash  its  shallow 
depths  into  hillows  that  might  satisfy  the  rage  of 
the  ITorth  Atlantic.  The  lighthouse  on  the  rocks 
at  Marhlehead  had  a  fascination  for  Lavinia;  it 
seemed  waiting  for  her  humor,  and  she  watched  it 
until  the  steamer  had  gone  far  on  toward  Kelly^s 
Island,  and  left  the  lighthouse  behind,  a  white 
spot  gleaming  in  the  sun. 

When  they  entered  the  little  archipelago  of 
the  Wine  Islands,  with  their  waters  a  deeper 
green  than  those  out  in  the  lake  and  overcast  in 
strange  ways  by  mysterious  shadows  and  cool  weird 
reflections  of  the  green  of  the  islands  all  about, 
Judge  Blair  came  back  to  her  and  asked  if  she  had 
been  seasick  and  how  she  had  enjoyed  the  little 
journey.  As  she  met  him  with  her  strange  per- 
plexing smile,  he  began  to  doubt  her  again ;  some- 
thing assured  him  that  she  still  clung  to  her  pur- 
pose of  love,  and  he  found  himself  almost  wishing 


114 


PUT-IN-BAY 

that  she  had  kept  to  her  defiant  temper  of  th# 
Sunday  afternoon  that  now  seemed  so  far  away. 

When  they  had  reached  Put-in-Bay  and  bounded 
on  the  trolley  across  the  island  to  the  huge  hotel, 
they  had  their  dinner  and  Lavinia  perplexed  the 
judge  further  by  retiring  to  her  room.  She  said 
she  would  rest,  though  she  had  persisted  all  the 
morning  that  she  was  not  tired. 

As  soon  as  she  had  closed  the  door  on  her  father, 
leaving  him  in  doubt  and  confusion,  she  began  a 
long  letter  to  Marley.  She  described  her  trip  in 
detail,  jealous  of  every  trifle  of  experienoe  that 
had  befallen  her;  she  told  him  of  the  bridal 
couple  she  had  seen  board  the  train  at  Clyde,  and 
of  the  showers  of  rice  that  had  been  thrown  by 
the  laughing  bridal  party,  though  she  omitted  the 
lone  father  of  the  bride  standing  apart  on  the 
platform  craning  his  head  anxiously  for  another 
sight  of  his  daughter,  and  trying  to  smile.  But 
she  gave  him  a  sense  of  the  romance  that  had 
stirred  in  her  at  the  sight  of  the  lighthouse  on 
its  lonely  point  of  rocks  and  the  stone  towers  that 
made  the  wine-cellars  on  Kelly's  Island  look  like 
castles. 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

After  supper  Lavima  left  her  father  to  tHe 
pleasure  of  renewing  acquaintance  with  the  lawyers 
who  thronged  the  lobby,  and  stole  down  to  the  rocks 
that  marked  the  shelving  shore  of  the  island.  She 
saw  stately  schooners,  with  white  sails  spread,  and 
she  watched,  until  its  black  banner  of  smoke  was 
but  a  light  wraith,  a  big  propeller  towing  its  convoy 
of  grain  barges  across  the  far  horizon.  This  calm 
serene  passing  of  the  life  of  the  lakes  soothed  her, 
filled  her  with  a  thousand  fancies,  and  stirred  her 
emotions  with  deep,  hidden  hints  of  the  mystery 
of  all  life.  As  she  sat  there  and  gazed,  now  and 
then  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  The  waters  were 
spread  smoothly  before  her  under  the  last  reflection 
of  the  sun,  the  twilight  was  coming  across  the 
lake;  and  as  the  light  followed  the  sun  and  the 
darkness  crept  behind,  she  looked  toward  the  south 
in  the  direction,  as  she  felt,  of  Macochee,  and 
thought  of  her  home  and  of  her  mother,  of  Connie 
and  of  Chad,  and  then  she  thought  of  Glenn. 

Far  out  in  the  lake  a  cluster  of  yellow  lights 
moved  swiftly  along — one  of  the  big  passenger 
steamers  that  nightly  ply  between  Detroit  and 
Buffalo,  and  she  read  in  that  moving  girdle  of 

116 


PUT-I]sr-BAY 

light  new  meanings;  then  suddenly  a  fear  seized 
her,  a  fear  that  was  part  of  the  ache  in  her  heart, 
and  she  ran  into  the  hotel  and  up  to  her  room. 
Then  she  took  up  her  letter  again  and  poured 
out  all  her  new  sensations,  her  longings,  and  her 
fears  in  a  lengthy  postscript.  When  she  had 
finished,  she  hegan  to  address  the  envelope;  and 
she  wrote  on  it,  with  pride: 

"Mr.  Glenn  — " 

And  then  she  paused.  She  did  not  know 
whether  he  spelt  his  name  "Marly,"  or  "Marley," 
or  "Marlay."  She  tried  writing  it  each  way, 
dozens  of  times,  but  the  oftener  she  tested  it  the 
less  able  she  was  to  decide.  It  was  too  ridiculous ; 
she  became  exasperated  with  herself;  then  hu- 
miliated and  ashamed.  When  she  heard  her 
father's  step  in  the  hall,  she  hastily  locked  her 
letter  in  her  little  traveling  bag.  The  judge 
greeted  her  warmly;  he  was  flushed  and  happy, 
and  in  the  highest  spirits.  During  the  afternoon 
he  had  been  meeting  lawyers  from  all  over  Ohio; 
the  evening  boats  from  Cleveland  and  Toledo  had 
brought  more  of  them  to  the  island ;  they  were  all 
eminent,  respectable,  rich,  the  attorneys  of  big  cor- 

117 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE. 

porations.  The  judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  and 
of  the  Circuit  Courts  were  there,  and  the  excite- 
ment had  reached  its  height  when  the  boat  from 
Cleveland  brought  an  associate  justice  of  the  Uni- 
ted States  Supreme  Court  to  deliver  the  chief 
address  of  the  meeting. 

Judge  Blair  reveled  in  meeting  all  these  dis- 
tinguished men;  he  enjoyed  the  flattery  in 
their  way  of  addressing  and  introducing  him. 
But  his  conscience  smote  him  when  he  saw  Lavinia. 
He  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  beside  her,  holding 
his  cigar  at  arm's  length.  It  was  an  excellent 
cigar,  better  than  he  ordinarily  smoked,  and  the 
thin  thread  of  smoke  that  wavered  up  from  it 
filled  the  room  almost  instantly  with  its  delicate 
perfume. 

^^Did  my  little  girl  think  her  father  had  deserted 
her  ?"  he  said,  speaking  of  her  in  the  third  person, 
after  the  affectionate  way  of  parents.  ^^He  must 
pay  better  attention  to  her.  She  must  come  down 
and  meet  the  lawyers;  they  will  be  delighted;  a 
justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  has  just  come  on  from 
Washington !     She  will  want  to  meet  him !" 

The  judge  paused  and  twisted  his  head  about  for 

118 


PUT-IIT-BAY 

a  puff  at  his  cigar,  and  then  waited  for  Lavinia 
to  glow  at  the  prospect  But  when  she  looked  at 
him,  and  tried  to  smile  again,  he  saw  the  glint  ^f 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Why  come,  come,  dear!"  he  said.  "What'a 
the  matter?  Aren't  you  having  a  good  time? 
Never  mind,  when  this  meeting's  over  we'll  go  to 
Detroit,  and  maybe  up  the  lakes  for  a  little  trip. 
That'll  bring  the  roses  back !" 

He  pinched  her  cheeks  playfully,  but  she  did 
not  respond ;  she  looked  at  him  pleadingly. 

"Why,  Lavinia,"  he  cried,  "you  aren  t  home- 
sick?" 

She  winked  bravely  to  stem  the  flood  of  tears 
and  then  nodded. 

"Well !"  he  said,  nonplussed.  "You  know,  dear, 
we  can't — " 

The  tears  were  brimming  in  her  blue  eyes,  and 
he  left  his  sentence  uncompleted  to  go  on : 

"So  you're  homesick,  eh?  For  mama,  and 
Connie?" 

She  nodded,  and  he  studied  her  closely  for  a 
moment,  and  then  he  could  not  resist  the  question 
that  all  along  had  been  torturing  him. 

119 


THE  HAPPY  AVEBAGE 

"And  for— 2" 

She  confirmed  his  fear,  with  quick  decisive  little 
nods.  She  got  out  her  handkerchief  and  hastily 
brushed  her  tears  away,  and  then  with  an  effort  to 
control  herself,  she  looked  at  him  and  said,  as  if 
she  were  ready  to  have  it  all  out  then: 

"Yes,  father,  I  haven't  treated  him  right  I 
came  away  without  telling  him." 

Judge  Blair  scowled  and  turned  away,  and  bit 
the  end  of  his  cigar.  Then  he  sat  and  studied  it. 
Lavinia  waited ;  she  was  ready  for  the  final  contest. 
Presently  the  judge  arose. 

"Well,  dear,"  he  said.  "Well— we'll  see;  of 
course,  we  can't  go  back  just  yet — I  have  my  ad- 
dress to  read  to-morrow,  and  besides,  some  o£  the 
boys  are  talking  of  me  for  president  of  the  Bar 
Association.  And  I  had  thought,  I  had  thought, 
that  a  little  trip  over  to  Detroit,  and  maybe  up  to 
Mackinac — " 

"Father,"  said  Lavinia,  looking  at  him  now 
calmly,  "I  don't  want  to  go  to  Detroit  or  up  to 
Mackinac.  I'll  do,  of  course,  as  you  say ;  I'll  wait 
until  the  Bar  meeting  is  over,  but  I  want  to  go 
home.     You  might  as  well  know  now,  father— 

120 


PUT-i:t^-BAY 

we  might  as  well  understand  each  other — it  can  be 
no  other  way.'' 

Judge  Blair  looked  at  his  daughter  a  momenii, 
and  she  kept  her  eyes  directly  and  firmly  in  his. 

"Oh  well,"  he  said  with  a  sigh,  "of  course,  dear, 
if  you  say.  I'd  like  to  stay  until  after  the  election 
though.     Will  you?" 

"Of  course/'  she  consented. 


121 


CHAPTEK  XI 


MACOCHEE 


Marley  had  not  learned  of  Lavinia's  de- 
parture until  Monday  afternoon;  he  had  the 
news  from  Lawrence,  who  had  it  from  the  hack- 
man  who  had  taken  eTudge  Blair  and  Lavinia 
to  the  train;  for  whenever  any  of  the  quality  go 
away  from  Macochee  they  always  ride  to  the  sta- 
tion in  the  hack,  though  at  other  times  they  walk 
without  difficulty  all  over  the  town.  When  Mar- 
ley  reached  the  office,  and  found  Wade  Powell,  as 
he  usually  found  him,  sitting  with  his  feet  on  his 
table,  smoking  and  reading  a  Cincinnati  paper, 
the  lawyer  looked  up  casually,  but  when  he  saw 
Marley's  expression  he  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"Hello!     What's  the  matter?" 

Marley  shook  his  head. 

'^Something's  troubling  you,"  said  Powell. 

122 


MACOCHEE 

Marley  shook  his  head  again,  and  Powell  looked 
at  him  as  at  a  witness  he  was  cross-examining. 

"I  know  better,"  he  said. 

Marley  affected  to  busy  himself  at  his  desk,  but 
after  a  while,  he  turned  about  and  said: 

"Something  is  troubling  me,  Mr.  Powell ;  my — 
prospects."  He  had  been  on  the  point  of  con- 
fessing his  real  trouble,  but  with  the  very  words 
on  his  lips,  he  could  not  utter  them,  and  bo  let 
the  conversation  take  another  turn. 

"Oh,  prospects !"  said  Powell.  "I  can  tell  yon 
all  about  prospects;  IVe  had  more  than  any  man 
in  Gordon  County.  When  I  was  your  age,  opinion 
was  unanimous  in  this  community  that  my  pros- 
pects were  the  most  numerous  and  the  most  bril- 
liant of  any  one  here!" 

Powell  laughed,  a  little  bitterly. 

"If  I'd  only  been  prudent  enough  to  die  then, 
Glenn,"  he  went  on,  "I'd  have  been  mourned  as  a 
potential  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court,  senator 
and  president." 

"It'll  be  three  years  before  I  can  be  admitted, 
won't  it?"  asked  Marley. 


123 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

"Yes/'  said  Powell;  "but  that  isn't  long;  and 
it  isn't  anything  to  be  admitted." 

"Well,  it  takes  time,  anyway,"  said  Marley, 
"and  then  there's  the  practice  after  that — ^how 
long  will  that  take  ?" 

"Well,  let's  see,"  said  Powell,  plucking  reflec- 
tively at  the  flabby  skin  that  hung  between  the 
points  of  his  collar.  "Let's  see."  His  brows  were 
twitching  humorously.  "It's  taken  me  about 
thirty  years — ^I  don't  know  how  much  longer  it'll 
take." 

Powell  smoked  on  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
added  soberly: 

"Of  course,  I  had  to  fool  around  in  politics  for 
about  twenty-five  years,  and  save  the  people." 

"Do  you  think,"  Marley  said,  after  a  moment's 
silence  that  paid  its  own  respect  to  Powell's  regrets, 
"that  there's  an  opening  for  me  here  in  Macochee  ?" 

"E"o,  Glenn,  I'll  tell  you.  There's  no  use  to 
think  of  locating  in  Macochee  or  any  other  small 
town.  The  business  is  dead  here.  It's  too  bad, 
but  it's  so.  When  I  began  there  was  plenty  of 
real  estate  law  to  do,  and  plenty  of  criminal  law, 
biit  the  land  titles  are  all  settled  now — ^" 

124 


MACOCHEE 

'That's  what  Judge  Blair  said,"  interrupted 
Marley. 

"So  youVe  been  to  him,  have  you  ?" 

Marley  blushed. 

"Well,  not  exactly,"  he  said.  "I  heard  him 
say  that" 

"Yee,"  mused  Powell.  "Well,  he  feathered  hid 
nest  pretty  well  while  they  were  being  settled. 
But  as  I  was  saying — the  criminal  business  has 
died  out,  or  rather,  it  has  changed.  The  criminals 
haven't  any  money  any  more,  that  is,  the  old  kind 
of  criminals;  the  corporations  have  it  all  now — 
if  you  want  to  make  money,  you'll  have  to  have 
them  for  clients.  Of  course,  the  money  still  goes 
to  the  criminal  lawyer  just  as  it  used  to." 

"I  like  Macochee,"  said  Marley,  his  spirits 
falling  fast. 

"Well,  it's  a  nice  old  town  to  live  in,"  Powell 
assented.  "But  the  devil  of  it  is  how're  you  going 
to  live?  Of  course,  you  can  study  here  just  as 
well  as  anywhere;  better  than  anywhere,  in  fact; 
you  have  plenty  of  time,  and  plenty  of  quiet  But 
as  for  locating  here — ^why,  it's  utterly  out  of  the 
question  for  a  man  who  wants  to  make  anything 

125 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

of  himself  and  has  to  get  a  living  while  he's  doing 
it — and  I  don't  know  any  other  kind  that  ever  do 
make  anything  out  of  themselves." 

"I  had  hoped — "  persisted  Marley,  longing  for 
Powell  to  relent 

"Oh,  I  know/'  the  lawyer  replied  almost  im- 
patiently, "but  it's  no  use,  there's  nothing  in  it. 
IsTo  one  with  ambition  can  stay  here  now.  The 
town,  like  all  these  old  county-seats,  is  good  for 
nothing  but  impecunious  old  age  and  cemeteries. 
It  was  nothing  but  a  country  cross-roads  before  the 
railroad  came,  and  since  then  it's  been  nothing  but 
a  water-tank;  if  it  keeps  on  it'll  be  nothing  but  a 
whistling-post,  and  the  trains  won't  be  bothered 
to  stop  at  all.  Its  people  are  industrious  in  noth- 
ing but  gossip,  and  genuine  in  nothing  but  hy- 
pocrisy ;  they  are  so  mean  that  they  hate  themselves, 
and  think  all  the  time  they're  hating  each  other. 
Just  look  at  our  leading  citizen,  Brother  Dudley, 
over  there  in  his  bank;  he  owns  the  whole  town, 
and  he  thinks  he's  a  bigger  man  than  old  Grant 
Samdays  he  sits  in  his  pew  with  a  black  coat  on, 
squinting  at  the  preacher  out  of  his  sore  little  eyes, 
and  waiting  for  him  to  say  something  he  can  get 

12a 


MACOCHEE 

the  bishop  to  fire  him  for,  and  he  calls  that  religion. 
Mondays  he  goes  back  to  his  business  of  skinning 
farmers  and  poor  widows  out  of  their  miserable 
little  pennies,  and  he  calls  that  business.  Does  he 
ever  look  at  a  flower  or  a  tree,  or  turn  round  in  the 
street  at  the  laugh  of  a  child  ?  He's  the  kind  of 
man  that  runs  this  town,  and  he  makes  the  rest  of 
the  people  like  it.  Well,  he  don't  run  me !  God ! 
If  I'd  only  had  some  sense  twenty  years  ago  I'd 
have  pulled  out  and  gone  to  the  city  and  been  some- 
body to-day." 

It  pained  Marley  to  hear  Powell  berate  Ma- 
cochee;  he  had  never  heard  him  rage  so  violently  at 
the  town,  though  he  was  always  sneering  at  it. 
To  Marley  the  very  name  of  Macochee  meant  ro- 
mance; he  liked  the  name  the  Indian  village  had 
left  behind  when  it  vanished;  he  liked  the  old 
high-gabled  buildings  about  the  Square ;  he  longed 
to  identify  himself  with  Macochee,  to  think  of  it 
as  his  home. 

"But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,"  Powell  went  on, 
his  tone  suddenly  changing  to  one  of  angry  resolu- 
tion as  he  flung  his  feet  heavily  to  the  bare  floor 
and  struck  his  desk  a  startling  blow  vdth  his  fist, 

127 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

"I'll  tell  jou  one  thing,  I'm  through  working  for 
nothing;  theyVe  got  to  pay  me!  I'm  going  to 
squeeze  the  last  cent  out  of  them  after  this,  same 
as  old  Dudley  does,  same  as  old  Bill  Blair  did  be- 
fore he  went  on  the  bench ;  that's  what  I'm  going 
to  do.  I'm  getting  old  and  I've  got  to  quit  run- 
ning a  legal  eleemosynary  institution." 

Powell's  eyes  flamed,  but  a  shadow  fell  in  the 
room,  and  Powell  and  Marley  glanced  at  the  door. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  ?"  said  Powell. 

An  old  woman,  bareheaded  in  the  hurry  of  a 
crisis,  was  on  the  threshold. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Powell,"  she  began  in  a  wailing 
voice,  "would  you  come  quick !" 

"What  for?" 

"Charlie's  in  ag'in." 

"Got  any  money?"  demanded  Powell,  in  th© 
angry  resolution  of  a  moment  before.  He  clenched 
his  fist  again  on  the  edge  of  his  table.  Marley 
glanced  at  him  in  surprise,  and  then  at  the  old 
woman. 

The  woman  hung  her  head  and  stammered : 

"Well,  you  know — I  hain't  just  now,  but  by  the 


128 


MACOCHEE 

week's  end,  when  I  get  the  money  for  my 
washin' — " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Powell,  getting  to 
his  feet,  "that's  all  right.  We  won't  talk  of  that 
now.  I  beg  your  pardon.  We'll  walk  down  to 
the  calaboose  and  see  the  boy;  we  can  talk  it  over 
with  him  and  see  what's  to  be  done." 

He  picked  np  his  slouch  hat  and  clapped  it  on 
his  head. 

"What's  he  been  doing  this  time?"  he  said  to 
the  old  woman  as  they  went  out  the  door. 

Marley  watched  them  as  they  passed  the  open 
window  and  disappeared.  A  smile  touched  his 
lips  an  instant,  and  then  he  became  serious  and 
depressed  once  more. 

He  had  had  no  word  from  Lavinia,  and  her 
going  away  immediately  after  his  scene  with 
Judge  Blair  confused  him.  He  tried  to  think  it 
out,  but  he  could  reach  no  conclusion  save  that  it 
was  all  at  an  end.  Lavinia's  sudden,  unexplained 
departure  proved  that.  And  yet  he  could  not,  he 
would  not,  think  that  she  had  changed;  no,  her 
father  had  borne  her  away — that  was  it — forcibly 
and  cruelly  borne  her  away.     Eor  a  long  while  he 

129 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

sat  there  finding  a  certain  satisfaction  in  the  melan- 
choly that  came  over  him,  and  then  suddenly  he 
was  aroused  by  the  boom  of  the  town  clock.  The 
heavy  notes  of  the  bell  rolled  across  to  him,  and 
he  counted  them — five.  It  was  time  to  go.  And 
Powell  had  not  returned.  It  was  not  surprising; 
Powell  often  went  out  that  way  and  did  not  come 
back,  and,  often,  somehow  to  Marley's  chagrin, 
men  and  women  sat  and  waited  long  hours  in  the 
dumb  patience  of  the  poor  and  then  went  away 
with  their  woes  still  burdening  them.  They  must 
have  been  used  to  woes,  they  carried  them  so  si- 
lently. 

Marley  was  walking  moodily  down  Main  Street, 
feeling  that  he  had  no  part  in  the  bustling  happi- 
ness of  the  people  going  home  from  their  day's 
work,  when,  lifting  his  head,  he  saw  Mrs.  Blair  in 
her  surrey.  Instantly  she  jerked  the  horse  in 
toward  the  curb  and  beckoned  to  him. 

"Why,  Glenn!  I'm  so  glad  I  met  you!"  she 
said,  her  face  rosy  with  its  smile.  "I  have  some- 
thing for  you." 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  in  a  significant  way 
and  began  fumbling  in  her  lap.     Presently  she 

130 


MACOCHEE 

leaned  out  of  the  surrey  and  pressed  something 
into  his  hand. 

"Just  between  ourselves,  you  know!"  she  said, 
with  the  delicious  mystery  of  a  secret,  and  then 
gathering  up  her  reins,  she  clucked  at  her  lazy 
horse. 

He  looked  after  her  a  moment,  then  at  the 
thick  envelope  he  held  in  his  hand.  On  it  was 
written  in  the  long  Anglican  characters  of  a  young 
girl,  these  words : 

"Per  Glenn." 


131 


CHAPTER  XII 

A    CONDITIONAL    SURRENDER 

Judge  Blair  and  Lavinia  returned  home  Sat- 
urday. 

"I  guess  it's  no  use,"  the  judge  said  to  Mrs. 
Blair  when  she  had  followed  him  up  stairs,  where 
he  had  gone  to  wash  off  the  dust  he  had  accumu- 
lated during  the  six  hours  the  train  had  consumed 
in  jerking  itself  from  Sandusky  to  Macoehee. 

"E'o,  I  could  see  how  relieved  she  was  to  get 
home,"  replied  Mrs.  Blair,  musing  idly  out  of  the 
window.  She  was  not  so  sure  that  she  was  pleased 
with  the  result  she  had  done  her  part  to  accom- 
plish. 

"I  guess  you  were  right,"  the  judge  said. 

**I  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Blair,  suddenly  turning  round. 

"Yes — in  saying  that  it  would  be  best  not  to  dig- 
nify it  by  too  much  notice.  That  might  only  add 
to  its  seriousness." 

132 


A  COHBITIOI^AL  SUREENBER. 

Mrs.  Blair  looked  out  of  the  window  again. 

''Of  course/'  the  judge  went  on  presently,  "I 
wouldn't  want  it  considered  as  an  engagement." 

"Of  course  not,"  Mrs.  Blair  acquiesced. 

"You'd  better  have  a  talk  with  her,"  he  said. 
She  saw  that  he  was  seeking  his  usual  retreat  in 
such  cases,  and  she  was  now  determined  not  to  take 
the  responsibility.  Spiritually  they  tossed  this 
responsibility  back  and  forth  between  them,  like 
a  shuttlecock. 

"But  wouldn't  that  make  it  look  as  if  we  were 
taking  too  much  notice  of  it  ?" 

"Well,"  the  judge  said,  "I  don't  know.  Do 
just  as  you  think  best." 

"Didn't  you  talk  to  her  about  it  when  you  were 
away  ?"  Mrs.  Blair  asked. 

"M-m  yes,"  the  judge  said  slowly. 

"And  what  did  she  say?" 

"lITothing  much,  only — " 

"Only  what?" 

"Only  that  she  would  not  give  him  up." 

"Oh!" 

Mrs.  Blair  waited,  and  the  judge  dawdled  at  his 
toilet.      Some  compulsion   she   could   not   resist, 

133 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

thougli  she  tried,  distrusting  her  own  weakness, 
drove  Mrs.  Blair  to  speak  first,  and  even  then  she 
sought  to  minimize  the  effect  of  her  surrender. 

"Of  course.  Will,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  be 
guided  by  you  in  this  matter.  It^s  really  quite  se- 
rious." 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "you're  capable  of  managing 
it." 

"You  said  you  knew  his  father,  didn't  you?" 
she  asked  after  a  while. 

"Slightly;  why?" 

"I  was  just  wishing  that  we  knew  more  of  the 
family.  You  know  they  have  not  lived  in  Ma- 
cochee  long." 

"That's  true,"  the  judge  assented,  realizing  all 
that  the  objection  meant. 

"And  yet,"  Mrs.  Blair  reassured  him,  though 
she  was  trying  to  reassure  herself  at  the  same  time, 
"his  father  is  a  minister;  that  ought  to  count  for 
something." 

"Yes,  it  ought,  and  still  you  know  they  say  that 
ministers'  sons  are  always — " 

"But,"  Mrs.  Blair  interrupted^  as  if  he  were 


134 


A  COISTDITIONAL  SURREI^DEE 

wholly  missing  the  point,  "ministers'  families  al- 
ways have  a  standing,  I  think." 

They  were  silent,  then,  until  Mrs.  Blair  began : 

"I  suppose  I  really  ought  to  call  on  Mrs.  Mar- 
ley." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  it  seems,  you  know — ^it  seems  to  me  that 
I  ought" 

"But  wouldn't  that— ?" 

"I  considered  that,  and  still,  it  might  seem  more 
so  if  I  didn't,  don't  you  see  ?" 

The  judge  tried  to  grasp  the  attenuated  point, 
and  expressed  his  failure  in  the  sigh  with  which  he 
stooped  to  fasten  his  shoes.  Then  he  drew  on  his 
alpaca  coat,  and  just  as  he  was  leaving  the  room, 
his  wife  stopped  him  with: 

"But,  Will!" 

He  halted  with  his  hand  on  the  door-knob.  For 
an  instant  his  wife  looked  at  him  in  pleasure.  He 
was  rather  handsome,  with  his  white  hair  combed 
gravely,  his  ruddy  face  fresh  from  his  shaving, 
and  his  stiff,  white  collar  about  his  neck. 

"What  did  you  say?"  he  asked,  recalling  her 
from  her  reverie  of  him. 

135 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

"Oh!"  she  said;  "only  this — ^maybe  he  won't 
feel  like  coming  around  here  any  more.  You 
know  you  practically  sent  him  away." 

The  judge  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"I  guess  that  will  work  itself  out.  Anyway  1*11 
leave  it  to  you — or  to  them." 

Still  smiling  at  his  own  humor,  he  turned  the 
door-knob,  and  then  hesitated.  His  smile  had 
vanished. 

"She's  so  young,"  he  said  with  a  regret.  "She's 
so  young.  How  old  did  you  say  you  were  when  we 
were  married  ?" 

"Eighteen,"  Mrs.  Blair  replied. 

"And  Lavinia  can't  be  more  than — ^" 

"Why,  she's  twenty,"  said  Mrs.  Blair. 

"So  she  is,"  said  the  judge.  "So  she  is.  But 
then  you — " 

Mrs.  Blair  had  come  close  to  him,  and  stood 
picking  a  bit  of  thread  from  his  shoulder. 

"It  was  different  with  us,  wasn't  it,  dear?" 
she  said,  looking  up  at  him. 

He  kissed  her. 


136 


CHAPTEE  XIII 

SUMMER 

The  dust  lay  thick  in  Ward  Street,  sifting 
its  fine  powder  on  the  leaves  of  the  cotton- 
woods  that  grew  at  the  weedy  gutter.  The 
grass  in  the  yard  grew  long,  and  the  bushes  lan- 
guished in  the  heat.  Judge  Blair's  beans  clam- 
bered up  their  poles  and  turned  white;  and  Con- 
nie's sweet  peas  grew  lush  and  rank,  running, 
as  she  complained,  mostly  to  leaves.  The  house 
seemed  to  have  withdrawn  within  itself;  its  green 
shutters  were  closed.  In  the  evening  dim  figures 
could  be  seen  on  the  veranda,  and  the  drone  of 
voices  could  be  heard.  At  eleven  o'clock,  the  deep 
siren  of  the  Limited  could  be  heard,  as  it  rounded 
the  curve  a  mile  out  of  town.  After  that  it  was 
still,  and  night  lay  on  Macochee,  soft,  vast,  im- 
measurable.   The  clock  in  the  Court  House  tower 

137 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

boomed  out  the  heavy  hours.  Sometimes  the  har- 
monies of  the  singing  negroes  were  borne  over  the 
town. 

And  to  Marlej  and  Lavinia  those  days,  and 
those  evenings  of  purple  shadows  and  soft  brilliant 
stars,  were  but  the  setting  of  a  dream  that  unfolded 
new  wonders  constantly.  They  were  but  a  part  of 
all  life,  a  part  of  the  glowing  summer  itself,  inno- 
cent of  the  thousand  artificial  demands  man  has 
made  on  himself.  Lavinia  went  about  with  a  new 
expression,  exalted,  expectant;  a  new  dignity  had 
come  to  her  and  a  new  beauty;  all  at  once,  sud- 
denly, as  it  were,  character  had  set  its  noble  mark 
upon  her,  and  about  her  slender  figure  there  was 
the  aureola  of  romance. 

"Have  you  noticed  Lavinia  ?"  Mrs.  Blair  asked 
her  husband. 

"i^o,  why  ?"  he  said,  in  the  alarm  that  was  ever 
ready  to  spring  within  him. 

'^She  has  changed  so ;  she  has  grown  so  beauti- 
ful!'' 

One  morning  the  judge  saw  a  spar  of  light  flash 
from  her  finger,  and  he  peered  anxiously  over  his 
glasses. 

138 


SUMMER 

"What's  that,  Lavinia  ?"  he  asked,  and  when  she 
stood  at  his  knee,  almost  like  a  little  girl  again 
in  all  but  spirit,  he  took  her  finger. 

"A  ring,''  she  said  simply. 

"What  does  it  mean?" 

"Glenn  gave  it  to  me." 

"Glenn?" 

"Yes." 

"But  I  thought  there  was  to  be  no  engagement  ?" 
The  judge  looked  up,  as  if  there  had  been  be- 
trayal. But  Lavinia  only  smiled.  The  judge 
looked  at  her  a  moment,  then  released  her  hand. 

"I  wouldn't  wear  it  where  any  one  could  see  it," 
he  said. 

The  summer  stretched  itself  long  into  Septem- 
ber; and  then  came  the  still  days  of  fall,  moving 
slowly  by  in  majestic  procession.  With  the  first 
cool  air,  a  new  restless  energy  awoke  in  Mar- 
ley.  All  the  summer  he  had  neglected  his 
studies ;  but  now  a  change  was  working  in  him  as 
wonderful  as  that  which  autumn  was  working  in 
the  world.  He  looked  back  at  that  happy,  self- 
sufficient  summer,  and,  for  an  instant,  he  had  a 
wild,  impotent  desire  to  detain  it,  to  hold  it,  to 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

keep  things  just  as  they  were;  but  the  summer  was 
gone,  the  winter  at  hand,  and  he  felt  all  at  once 
the  impact  of  practical  life.  He  faced  the  future, 
and  for  an  instant  he  recoiled. 

Lavinia  was  standing  looking  up  at  him.  She 
laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"What  is  it,  Glenn  ?" 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  a 
great  assurance  in  asking  you  to  marry  me." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Why,  dear,  just  this :  I  can't  get  a  practice  in 
Macochee ;  I  might  as  well  look  it  in  the  face  now 
an  any  time.  I  have  known  it  all  along,  but  I've 
kept  it  from  you,  and  I've  tried  to  keep  it  from 
myself.  There's  no  place  here  for  me;  every- 
body says  so,  your  father,  Wade  Powell,  every- 
body. There's  no  chance  for  a  young  man  in  the 
law  in  these  small  towns.  I've  tried  to  make  my- 
self think  otherwise.  I've  tried  to  make  myself  be- 
lieve that  after  I'd  been  admitted  I  could  settle 
down  here  and  get  a  practice  and  we  could  have  a 
little  home  of  our  own — ^but — " 

'^Can't  we  ?"  Lavinia  whispered  the  words,  as  if 


140 


SUMMEK 

she  were  afraid  utterance  would  confirm  tlie  fear 
they  imported. 

"Well — that's  what  they  all  say,"  Marley  in- 
sisted. 

"But  papa's  always  talking  that  way,"  Lavinia 
protested.  "I  suppose  all  old  men  do.  They  for- 
get that  they  were  ever  young,  and  I  don't  see 
what  right  they  have  to  destroy  your  faith,  your 
confidence,  or  the  confidence  of  any  young  man !" 
Lavinia  hlazed  out  these  words  indignantly.  It 
was  consoling  to  Marley  to  hear  them,  he  liked  her 
passionate  partizanship  in  his  cause  He  longed 
for  her  to  go  on,  and  he  waited,  anxious  to  be  re- 
assured in  spite  of  himself.  He  could  see  her 
face  dimly  in  the  starlight,  and  feel  her  figure  rigid 
with  protest  beside  him. 

"It's  simply  wicked  in  them,"  she  said  presently. 
"I  don't  care  what  they  say.    We  can  and  we  vdll !" 

"I  like  to  have  you  put  it  that  way,  dear,"  said 
Marley.     "I  like  to  have  you  say  *we'I" 

She  drew  more  closely  to  him. 

"And  you  think  we  can  ?"  he  said  presently. 

"I  know  it" 

"And  have  a  little  home,  here,  in  one  of  these 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

quiet  streets,  with  the  shade,  and  the  happiness — ^^ 

"Yes!" 

"And  it  wouldn't  matter  much  if  we  were  poor  ?" 

"]^o!" 

"Just  at  first,  you  know.  I'd  work  hard,  and  we 
could  be  so  happy,  so  happy,  just  we  two,  to- 
gether !" 

"Yes,  yes,''  she  whispered. 

"I  love  Macochee  so,"  Marley  said  presently.  "I 
just  couldn't  leave  it !" 

"Don't!  Don't!"  she  protested.  "Don't  even 
speak  of  it !" 


142 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


ONE    SUNDAY   MORNING 


It  was  Sunday  morning  and  Marley  sat  in 
church  looking  at  a  shaft  of  soft  light  that  fell 
through  one  of  the  tall  windows.  From  gazing  at 
the  shaft  of  light,  he  began  to  study  the  symbols 
in  the  different  windows,  the  cross  and  crown,  the 
Iamb,  the  triangle  that  represented  the  Trinity,  all 
the  Roman  symbols  that  Protestantism  still  retains 
in  its  decorations.  Then  he  counted  the  pipes  in 
the  organ,  back  and  forth,  never  certain  that  he 
had  counted  them  correctly.  All  about  him  the 
people  were  going  through  the  service,  but  it  had 
lost  all  meaning  for  Marley,  because  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  it  from  childhood. 

Having  been  reassured  by  Lavinia,  he  felt  that 
he  should  be  happy,  yet  a  strong  sense  of  dissatis- 
faction, of  uncertainty,  flowed  persistently  under 

143 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

all  his  thoughts,  belying  his  heart's  assurance  of 
its  happiness.  When  Doctor  Marley,  advancing 
to  the  pulpit,  buttoned  his  coat  down  before  him, 
pushed  aside  the  vase  of  flowers  the  ladies'  com- 
mittee always  put  in  his  way,  and  stood  with  his 
strong,  expressive  hand  laid  on  the  open  Bible, 
Marley's  thoughts  fixed  themselves  for  a  moment  in 
the  pride  and  love  he  had  always  had  for  his  father. 
There  sw^ept  before  him  hundreds  of  scenes  like  this 
when  his  father  had  stood  up  to  preach,  and  then 
suddenly  he  realized  that  his  father  had  grown  old : 
he  was  white-haired  and  in  his  rugged,  smooth- 
shaven  face  deep  lines  were  drawn — the  lines  of  a 
beautiful  character. 

He  remembered  something  his  father  had  said  to 
the  effect  that  the  pulpit  was  the  only  place  in 
which  inexperienced  youth  was  desired,  showing 
the  insincerity  of  what  people  call  their  re- 
ligion, and  then  he  remembered  the  ambitions  he 
had  dimly  felt  in  his  father  in  his  earlier  days ;  it 
had  been  predicted  that  his  father  would  b©  a 
bishop.  But  he  was  not  a  bishop,  and  now  in  all 
probability  never  would  be  one ;  he  was  not  politi- 
cian  enough   for  that.      And   Marley  wondered 

14:4; 


OKE  SUKDAY  MORKIE^G 

whetlier  or  not  his  father  could  be  said  to  have 
been  successful;  he  had  come  to  know  and  to  do 
high  things,  he  had  lived  a  life  full  of  noble  sac- 
rifice and  the  finest  faith  in  humanity  and  in  God; 
but  was  this  success  ?   He  heard  his  father's  voice : 

"The  text  will  be  found  in  the  third  chapter 
of  the  Lamentations  of  Jeremiah." 

But  Marley  never  listened  to  sermons ;  now  and 
then  he  caught  a  phrase,  or  a  period,  especially 
when  his  father  raised  his  voice,  but  his  thoughts 
were  elsewhere,  anywhere — ^not  on  the  sermon. 
The  men  and  women  sitting  in  front  of  him  kept 
shifting  constantly,  and  he  grew  tired  of  slipping 
this  way  and  that  and  craning  his  neck  in  order  to 
see  his  father.  And  then  the  constant  fluttering  of 
fans  hurt  his  eyes,  and  they  wandered  here  and 
there,  each  person  they  lighted  on  suggesting  some 
new  train  of  thought. 

Presently  they  fell  on  a  girl  in  a  white  dress,  and 
in  some  way  she  suggested  Lavinia.  And  instantly 
he  felt  that  he  should  be  perfectly  happy  when 
thinking  of  Lavinia,  but,  as  suddenly,  came  that 
subconscious  uncertainty,  that  deep-flowing  discon- 
tent    He  went  over  his  last  conversation  with 

145 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

Lavinia,  in  which  h©  had  found  such  assurance, 
but  now  away  from  her  he  realized  that  he  had 
lulled  himself  into  a  sense  of  security  that  was  all 
false;  and  the  conviction  that  Macochee  had  no 
place  for  him,  at  least  as  a  lawyer,  came  back. 
He  tried  to  put  it  away  from  him,  and  think  of 
something  else. 

His  eyes  fell  on  old  Selah  Dudley,  sitting  like  all 
pillars  of  the  church,  at  the  end  of  his  pew.  Dud- 
ley's back  was  narrow,  and  rounded  out  between 
the  shoulders  so  that  Marley  wondered  how  he 
could  sit  comfortably  at  all ;  his  head  was  flat  and 
sheer  behind,  and  Marley  could  see  with  what  care 
the  old  banker  had  plastered  the  scant  hair  across 
his  bald  poll — the  only  sign  of  vanity  revealed  in 
him,  unless  it  were  in  the  brown  kid  gloves 
he  wore.  Marley  looked  at  Dudley  with  the  feel- 
ing that  he  was  looking  at  the  most  successful  man 
in  Macochee,  and  yet  he  had  a  troubled  sense  of 
the  phariseeism  that  is  the  essential  element  of 
such  success.  He  remembered  what  Wade  Powell 
had  said;  immediately  he  saw  Dudley  in  a  new 
light;  the  old  man  sat  stolid,  patient  and  brutal, 
waiting  for  some  heterodoxy,  or  something  that 

146 


OKE  suiTDAY  mor:^i:n'g 

could  be  construed  as  heterodoxy,  theological  or 
economic,  like  a  savage  with  a  spear  waiting  to 
pierce  his  prey,  and  glad  when  the  moment  came. 

But  Marley,  seeing  the  young  girl  in  the  white 
dress,  again  thought  of  Lavinia,  who  would  be  sit- 
ting at  that  very  moment  with  her  father  and 
mother  and  Connie  and  Chad  over  in  the  Presbyter- 
ian church.  How  long  would  it  be  before  he  could 
sit  there  beside  her,  as  her  husband?  Then  with 
a  flash  it  came  to  him  that  they  would,  in  all 
likelihood,  be  married  in  that  very  church.  In- 
stantly he  saw  the  spectators  gathered,  he  saw  the 
pulpit  and  the  chancel-rail  hidden  in  flowers,  he 
saw  his  father  with  his  ritual  in  his  hands,  wait- 
ing ;  and  then  while  the  organ  played  the  wedding 
march,  Lavinia  coming  down  the  aisle,  her  eyes 
lowered  under  her  veil.  His  heart  beat  faster,  he 
felt  a  wave  of  emotion,  joyous,  exciting. 

But  there  was  much  to  do  before  that  moment 
could  come — the  long  days  and  nights  of  study ;  the 
examination  looming  like  a  mountain  of  difficulties, 
then  months  and  years  of  waiting  for  a  practice. 
He  tried  to  imagine  each  detail  of  the  coming  of 
a  practice,  but  he  could  not;  he  could  not  conceive 

147 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

how  it  was  possible  for  a  practice  to  come  to  any 
one,  mncli  less  to  him.  There  were  many  lawyers 
in  Macochee  now,  and  all  of  them  were  more  or 
less  idle.  There  was  certainly  no  need  of  more. 
Judge  Blair  and  Wade  Powell  and  every  one 
had  told  him  that,  and  suddenly  he  felt  an  impa- 
tience with  them  all,  as  if  they  were  responsible 
for  the  conditions  they  described;  they  all  con- 
spired against  him,  men  and  conditions,  making 
up  the  elements  of  a  harsh,  intractable  fate. 

And  Marley  grew  bitter  against  every  one  in 
Macochee;  they  all  gossiped  about  him,  they  were 
all  determined  to  drive  him  away ;  well,  let  them ; 
he  would  go ;  but  he  would  come  back  again  some 
day  as  a  great,  successful  lawyer,  looking  down  on 
them  and  their  little  interests,  and  they  would  be 
filled  with  envy  and  respect.  But  what  of  La- 
yinia  ? 

What  right  had  he  to  ask  her  to  marry  him? 
What  right  had  he  to  place  her  in  the  position  he 
had?  He  realized  it  now,  clearly,  he  told  him- 
self, for  the  first  time.  She  had  given  up  all  for 
him.  She  would  go  out  no  more,  she  had  foregone 
her  parties,  calls,  picnics,  dances,  everything;  in 

148 


ONE  SUNDAY  MOKNIISrG 

her  devotion  she  had  estranged  her  friends.  He 
had  given  her  parents  concern,  he  had  placed  her 
in  a  false,  impossible  position.  He  must  rescue 
her  from  it.  But  how  ?  By  breaking  the  engage- 
ment? He  blushed  for  the  thought.  By  going 
away  quietly,  silently,  without  a  word?  That 
would  only  increase  the  difficulty  of  her  position. 
By  keeping  her  waiting,  year  after  year,  until  he 
could  find  a  foothold  in  the  world?  Even  that 
was  unfair. 

No,  he  could  not  give  up  Lavinia  and  he  could 
not  go  away  from  Macochee,  hence  it  followed  that 
he  must  give  up  the  law.  He  must  get  some  work 
to  do,  and  at  once ;  something  that  would  pay  him 
enough  to  support  a  wife.  He  began  to  canvass 
the  possibilities  in  Macochee.  He  thought  of  all 
the  openings;  surely  there  would  be  something; 
there  were  several  thousand  persons  in  Macochee, 
and  they  lived  somehow.  He  did  not  wish  to  give 
up  the  law ;  not  that  he  loved  it  so,  but  because  he 
disliked  to  own  himself  beaten.  But  it  was  nec- 
essary ;  he  could  suffer  this  defeat ;  he  could  make 
this  sacrifice.    There  was  something  almost  noble 


149 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

in  the  attitude,  and  lie  derived  a  kind  of  morbid 
consolation  from  tlie  thought. 

His  father  was  closing  the  Bible — sure  sign  that 
the  sermon  was  about  to  end.  There  was  another 
prayer,  then  a  hymn,  and  while  the  congregation 
remained  standing  for  the  benediction,  he  heard 
his  father^s  voice: 

"The  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing— " 

The  words  had  always  comforted  him  in  the  sor- 
rows he  was  constantly  imagining,  but  now  they 
brought  no  peace. 

In  another  moment  the  congregation  was  stir- 
ring joyously,  in  unconscious  relief  that  the  sitting 
was  over.  The  hum  of  voices  assumed  a  pleasant 
social  air,  as  friend  and  acquaintance  turned  to 
greet  one  another.  The  people  moved  slowly  down 
the  aisle.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  father, 
smiling  and  happy — happy  that  his  work  was  done 
— passing  his  handkerchief  over  his  reddened  brow 
and  bending  to  take  the  hands  of  those  who  came 
to  speak  to  him  and  to  congratulate  him.  Just  then 
Selah  Dudley  gave  his  father  his  hand;  the  sight 
pleased  Mar  ley ;  and  suddenly  an  idea  came  to  him. 

160 


CHAPTER  XV. 


A    SAINT  S    ADVICE 


0]sr  Monday;  morning  Marlej  found  Dudley 
at  his  post  in  tlie  First  iN'ational  Bank.  He 
halted  at  the  little  low  gate  in  the  rail  that 
ran  round  Dudley's  desk  until  Dudley  looked 
up  and  saw  him,  and  then  Marley  smiled. 
Dudley,  conceiving  it  to  be  the  propitiatory  smile 
of  the  intending  borrower,  narrowed  his  eyes  as 
he  regarded  him. 

"Well?'' he  said. 

Marley  went  in  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
hard  chair  that  was  placed  near  Dudley. 

"I  wish  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you,  Mr.  Dud- 
ley," he  said.  He  waited  then  for  Dudley  to  reply, 
thinking  perhaps  he  would  be  interested  in  the 
son  of  his  pastor.  Dudley  had  turned  his  chair  a 
little,  and  seemed  to  have  sunk  a  little  lower  in  its 

161 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

brown  leather  cushions,  worn  to  a  hard  shine  dur- 
ing the  long  years  he  had  sat  there.  The  lower  part 
of  him  was  round  and  full  and  heavy,  while  his 
shoulders  were  narrow  and  sloping,  and  his  chest 
sunken,  as  if,  from  sitting  there  so  many  years, 
his  vitals  had  settled,  giving  him  the  figure  of  a 
half  emptied  bag  of  grain.  His  legs  were  thin,  and 
his  trousers  crept  constantly  np  the  legs  of  the  boots 
he  wore;  the  boots  were  blackened  as  far  as  the 
ankles,  above  the  ankles  they  were  wrinkled  and 
scuffed  to  a  dirty  brown. 

Marley  noted  these  details  hurriedly,  for  it  was 
the  face  of  the  man  that  held  him.  A  scant  beard, 
made  up  of  a  few  harsh,  wiry  hairs,  partly  covered 
the  banker's  cheeks  and  chin;  his  upper  lip  was 
clean-shaven,  and  his  hair,  scant  but  still  black, 
was  combed  forward  at  the  temples,  and  carefully 
carried  over  from  one  side  of  his  head  to  the  other, 
ineffectually  trying  to  hide  the  encroaching  bald- 
ness. His  nose  was  large;  his  eyes  narrow  under 
his  almost  barren  brows  and  red  at  the  edges  of 
the  lids  that  lacked  lashes. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  said  Dudley,  never  mov- 
ing, as  if  to  economize  his  energies,  as  he  econo- 

152 


A  SAINT'S  ADVICE 

mized  his  words  and  every  other  thing  of  value  in 
his  narrow  world. 

Marley  did  not  know  just  what  reply  to  make: 
this  was  a  critical  moment  to  him,  and  he  must 
make  no  mistake. 

"I  came/'  he  began,  "to — to  ask  you  for  a  little 
advice." 

Dudley,  at  this,  settled  a  little  more  into  his 
chair,  possibly  a  little  more  comfortably ;  he  seemed 
to  relax  somewhat,  and  his  eyes  were  not  quite 
so  narrow  as  they  had  been.  But  he  blinked 
a  moment,  and  then  cautiously  asked : 

"What  about?" 

"Well,  it's  just  this,"  Marley  began,  smiling 
persistently ;  "you  see  I've  begun  the  study  of  law ; 
I  had  intended  to  be  a  lawyer." 

"We've  got  plenty  o'  lawyers,"  said  Dudley. 

"That's  just  the  conclusion  I  have  come  to,  and 
I  was  thinking  somewhat  of  making  a  change. 
And  so  I  thought  I'd  come  and  ask  you,  that  is, 
your  advice." 

Dudley,  still  cautious,  made  no  reply,  and  Mar- 
ley  almost  despaired  of  getting  on  easy  terms.  He 
began  to  wish  he  had  not  come;  he  might  have 

153 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

known  this,  he  said  to  himself,  and  his  smile  and 
the  confidence  with  which  he  had  come  began  to 
leave  him.    But  he  must  make  another  effort. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Dudley,"  he  said,  "I  thought, 
as  things  are  nowadays,  I  would  have  to  wait  years 
before  I  could  really  do  anything  in  the  law,  and 
as  I  have  my  own  way  to  make  in  the  world,  I 
thought,  you  know,  I  might  get  into  something 
else." 

"What,  for  instance  ?"  asked  Dudley. 

"Well,  I  didn't  exactly  know;  I  had  hardly 
thought  it  out, — that's  why  I  came  to  you,  knowing 
you  to  be  a  man  of  large  affairs." 

Dudley  had  an  instant's  vision  of  his  bank,  of 
his  stocks,  and  of  the  many  farms  all  over  Gordon 
County  on  which  he  held  mortgages,  but  he  checked 
his  impulse ;  these  very  possessions  must  be  guard- 
ed; people  envied  him  them,  and  while  this  envy 
in  one  way  was  among  the  sources  of  his  few  joys, 
it  nevertheless  gave  rise  to  covetousness  which  was 
prohibited  by  the  tenth  commandment 

"So  you  want  my  advice,  eh  ?"  he  asked,  looking 
hard  at  Marley. 

"Yes,  sir." 

164 


A  SAmrs  ADVICE 

"And  that's  all  ?"  he  asked  suspiciously. 

"Well — any  suggestions,"  Marley  said. 

Dudley  still  hesitated.  He  continued  to  study 
Marley  out  of  his  little  eyes.  Presently  ho  in- 
quired, as  if  by  way  of  getting  a  basis  to  start  on : 

"You  been  to  college,  ain't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  Marley  answered  promptly;  "I  grad- 
uated in  June." 

"How  long  was  you  there  ?" 

"Why,"  Marley  replied  in  some  surprise,  "the 
full  four  years." 

"Four  years,"  Dudley  repeated.     "How  old?" 

"Twenty-two." 

"Well,  that's  that  much  time  wasted.  If  a  young 
man's  going  to  get  along  these  times,  and  make 
anything  of  himself,  he  has  to  start  early,  learn 
business  ways  and  habits.  He's  got  to  begin  at 
the  bottom,  and  feel  his  way  up."  The  banker  was 
speaking  now  with  a  reckless  waste  of  words  that 
was  surprising.  "The  main  thing  at  first  is  to 
work;  it  ain't  the  money.  !N'ow,  when  I  come  to 
Maoochee,  forty-seven  years  ago,  I  hadn't  noth- 
ing. But  I  went  to  work,  I  was  up  early,  and  I 
went  to  bed  early ;  I  worked  hard  all  day,  I  'tended 

156 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

to  business,  and  I  saved  my  money.  That's  it, 
young  man,  that's  the  only  way — ^up  early,  work 
hard,  and  save  your  money."  Dudley  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  to  let  Marley  contemplate  him. 

"But  what  did  you  work  at  ?    At  first,  I  mean.'' 

"Why,"  said  Dudley,  as  if  in  surprise,  "at  any- 
thing I  could  get  I  wan't  proud;  I  wan't  'fraid 
o'  work." 

Marley  leaned  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  began  twirling  his  hat  in  his  hands. 
Then,  thinking  the  attitude  lacking  in  respect,  he 
sat  up  again. 

"Then,  I  was  careful  of  my  habits,"  Dudley 
went  on.  "I  never  touched  a  bit  o'  tobacco,  nor 
tasted  a  drop  o'  liquor  in  my  life." 

He  paused,  and  then; 

"Do  you  use  tobacco  ?"  he  asked. 

"Sometimes,"  Marley  hesitated  to  confess. 

"Cigarettes  ?" 

"IN'ow  and  then." 

"Humph !  Learned  that  at  college,  I  suppose." 
Marley  made  no  reply. 

"Well,  you've  started  wrong,  young  man.  That 
wan't  the  way  I  made  myself.     I  never  touched  a 

156 


A  SAINT'S  ADVICE 

drop  of  liquor  nor  tasted  tobacco.  I  worked  hard 
and  God  prospered  me — ^yes,  God  prospered  ma" 

Dudley's  voice  sank  piously. 

"!N'ow,  I'll  tell  you."  He  seemed  to  be  about  to 
impart  tbe  secret  of  it  all.  "Wben  I  was  your 
age,  I  embraced  religion,  and  I  promised  God 
that  if  he'd  prosper  me  I'd  give  a  tenth  of  all  I 
made  to  the  church ;  a  tenth,  yes,  sir,  a  full  tenth." 
The  banker  paused  again  as  if  making  a  calcula- 
tion, and  a  trouble  gathered  for  an  instant  at  his 
hairless  brows,  but,  as  if  by  an  effort,  he  smoothed 
them  so  that  they  became  meek  and  submissive. 
And  then  he  went  on,  as  if  he  had  found  a  species 
of  relief : 

"But  it  was  the  best  bargain  I  ever  made.  It 
paid ;  yes,  it  paid ;  I  kep'  my  word,  and  the  Lord 
kep'  His;  He  prospered  me." 

He  had  folded  his  hands,  and  sat  blinking  at 
Marley. 

"So  my  advice  to  you,  young  man,  is  to  give  up 
tobacco  and  all  your  other  bad  habits,  to  be  up  early 
in  the  morning,  to  work  hard,  and  remember  God 
in  all  your  ways,  and  He  shall  direct  thy  paths." 

Dudley  stirred,  and  moved  his  swivel  chair  a 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

little,  as  if  it  were  time  to  resume  work.  But  Mar- 
ley  sat  there. 

"That's  my  advice  to  you,  young  man,"  Dudley 
repeated,  "and  it  won't  cost  you  a  cent."  He  said 
this  generously,  at  the  same  time  implying  a  hint 
of  dismissal.  Still  Marley  did  not  move,  and  Dud- 
ley eyed  him  in  some  concern.  Marley  saw  the 
look  and  forced  a  smile. 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Dudley,"  he  said,  "for  your 
advice.  I  am  sure  it  is  good.  I  was  wondering, 
though,"  he  went  on,  with  a  reluctance  that  he  knew 
impaired  the  effect  of  his  words,  "if  you  wouldn't 
have  something  here  in  your  bank  for  me — ^" 

At  this  Dudley  suddenly  seemed  to  shrink  in 
size.  His  eyes  became  small,  mere  inflamed  slits 
beneath  his  hairless  brows,  and  he  said : 

^'I  thought  you  said  you  wanted  advice  ?" 

"Well,  I  did,"  Marley  explained,  "but  I  thought 
maybe — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  He  rose  and 
stood,  still  twirling  his  hat  in  his  hand.  "And 
you  have  nothing,  you  know  of  nothing  ?" 

Dudley  slowly  shook  his  head  from  side  to  side, 


158 


A  SALT'S  ADVICE 

once  or  twice,  having  resumed  his  economical 
habits. 

"Good  morning,"  Marley  said,  and  left. 

As  he  went  out,  the  cashier  and  the  assistant 
cashier  looked  at  him  through  the  green  wire 
screen.  Then  they  lifted  their  heads  from  their 
tasks  cautiously  and  exchanged  surreptitious 
glances. 


169 


CHAPTEE  XVI 


LOVE   AKD   A   LIVING 


Marley  was  not  surprised  by  the  result  of 
his  visit  to  Selah  Dudley.  He  made  an  effort 
to  convince  himself  that  there  was  trutL.  in 
wjiat  Dudley  had  said  to  him,  eveai  if  he  could 
not  remember  exactly  what  it  was  that  Dudley 
had  said.  He  tried  to  put  down  the  instinctive  feel- 
ing of  dislike  he  had  for  the  old  banker;  he  told 
himseK  that  such  a  feeling  was  unworthy  of  him, 
if  not  unworthy  of  Dudley,  and  in  thinking  the 
matter  over  he  tried  to  clear  himself  of  all  suspicion 
of  envy  or  jealousy  of  Dudley's  success.  The  whole 
town  considered  Dudley  its  leading  man,  and 
Marley, tried  so  to  consider  him;  and  he  tried  to 
consider  him  in  this  light  because  he  was  a  good 
man  and  not  because  lie  was  a  rich  man,  just  as 
the  town  pretended  to  do.    He  wanted  to  talk  about 

160 


LOVE  AKD  A  LIVING 

Dudley  with  some  one^  but  he  did  not  want  to  tallv 
about  him  with  Lavinia,  because  he  felt  a  shame  in 
his  failure  with  Dudley  that  he  feared  Lavinia 
might  share.  He  did  talk  with  his  father  about 
him,  but  his  father  did  not  seem  to  be  interested ; 
he  smiled  his  tolerant  smile,  but  made  no  com- 
ment. And  when  Marley  pressed  him  for  an  opin- 
ion of  Dudley  his  father  said : 

"They  make  broad  their  phylacteries." 

And  that  was  all. 

However,  Marley  found  Wade  Powell  willing 
to  talk  of  Selah  Dudley,  as  he  was  willing  to  talk  of 
almost  anything.  Marley  did  not  tell  Powell  that 
he  had  been  to  Dudley  to  ask  for  a  position;  he 
merely  let  it  be  understood  that  he  had  met  the 
old  man  in  the  course  of  the  day  and  talked  with 
him  casually. 

"By  the  way,"  he  asked,  as  if  the  thought  had 
just  come  to  him,  "how  did  Selah  Dudley  make  his 
money  ?" 

"He  didn't  make  it,"  Powell  answered. 

"He  didn't?    Did  he  inherit  it?" 

"ITo." 

"Then  how  did  he  get  it?" 

161 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

"He  gathered  it" 

"Gathered  it  ?    I  don't  Imow  what  you  mean." 

Powell  laughed. 

"You  don't?    Well,  there's  a  dijfference." 

"He  wasn't  in  the  army,  was  he  ?" 

"In  the  army !  Great  God !"  Powell  threw  into 
his  voice  the  contempt  he  could  not  find  the  word 
to  express.  "You  think  he'd  risk  his  hide  in 
the  army?  Well,  I  should  say  not!  Though 
he  would  have  heen  perfectly  safe — "  Powell  said 
it  as  a  parenthetical  afterthought — "no  bullet  could 
ever  have  pierced  his  hide,  and  he  had  no  blood  to 
shed." 

Powell  bit  the  end  from  his  cigar  and  spat  out 
the  damp  little  pieces  of  tobacco  viciously. 

":N'o,  I'll  tell  you,  Glenn,"  he  said,  "he  stayed 
at  home  and  got  his  start,  as  he  calls  it^  by  skin- 
ning the  poor.  Widows  were  his  big  game  and  he 
gathered  a  little  pile  that  has  been  growing  ever 
since.     To-day  he  owns  Gordon  County." 

"He  seems  to  be  a  prominent  man  in  the  church," 
ventured  Marley. 

"He'll  be  a  prominent  man  in  hell,"  said  Powell, 
angrily.     And  then  he  added  thoughtfully:    "My 

162 


LOVE  AND  A  LIVING 

one  regret  in  going  there  myself  is  that  I'll  have  to 
see  him  every  day." 

The  most  curious  effect  of  Marley's  visit  to  Dud- 
ley, however,  was  one  he  did  not  observe  himself. 
Having  been  defeated  in  his  plan  to  secure  a  place 
in  the  bank,  he  felt  at  first,  with  a  certain  consola- 
tion, that  he  still  had  the  law  to  fall  back  on,  and 
he  returned  to  his  studies.  But  he  made  little  head- 
Way;  once  having  decided  to  give  up  the  law,  the 
decision  remained,  and  his  mind  was  constantly 
occupied  with  schemes  for  securing  a  foothold  in 
some  other  occupation.  He  considered,  one  after 
another,  every  possibility  in  Macochee,  and  as  fast 
as  he  thought  of  some  opening,  he  went  for  it,  but 
invariably  to  find  it  either  no  opening  at  all,  or 
else,  if  it  were  an  opening,  one  that  closed  at  his 
approach.  Gradually  he  gave  up  his  studies  al- 
together, and  sat  idle^  his  book  before  him ;  but  one 
day  Powell  said  to  him : 

"Say,  Glenn,  you're  not  getting  along  very  fast, 
are  you  ?" 

Marley  started,  and  flushed  with'  a  sense  of  guilt 

"Well,  no,"  he  admitted. 

".What's  the  matter,  in  love  V* 

res: 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

Marlej  blushed,  from  another  cause  this  time, 
though  the  guilt  remained  in  his  face.  But  Powell 
instantly  was  gentle, 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "I  was  just  joking, 
of  course;  I  didn't  mean  to  be  inquisitive.  You 
mustn't  mind  my  boorishness." 

Marley  looked  at  him  gratefully  and  Powell,  to 
whom  any  show  of  affection  was  confusing,  turned 
away  self-consciously.  But  Marley  whirled  his 
chair  around  toward  Powell. 

"I  am  in  love/'  he  said.  "Pve  wanted  to  tell 
you,  but  I — ^you  know  who  she  is." 

"Lavinia  Blair?" 

"Yes.  And  that's  what's  troubling  me,"  Marley 
went  on.  "I  want  to  get  married,  and  I  can't.  I 
can't,"  he  repeated,  "the  law's  too  slow;  I've  real- 
ized it  for  a  long  while,  but  I  tried  to  keep  the 
fact  away^  I  tried  not  to  see  it.  But  now  I  have 
to  face  it.  Why,"  he  said,  rising  to  his  feet,  "it'll 
take  a  thousand  years  to  get  a  practice  in  this  town, 
and  I'm  not  even  admitted  yet." 

He  walked  to  and  fro,  his  brows  pinched  to- 
gether, his  lower  lip  thrust  out,  his  teeth  nipping 
his  upper  one.     Powell  glanced  at  him,  but  said 


LOVE  AND  A  LIVmG 

nothing.  He  knew  human  nature,  this  lawyer,  and 
the  fact  made  every  one  in  the  county  tremble  at 
the  thought  of  his  cross-examinations ;  sometimes  he 
carried  too  far  his  love  of  laying  souls  bare,  and 
as  often  hurt  as  helped  his  cause.  He  never  had 
been  able  to  turn  his  knowledge  to  much  practical 
account;  in  a  city  he  would  have  had  numerous 
retainers  as  a  trial  lawyer,  though  few  as  a  coun- 
selor. In  Macochee  he  was  out  of  place,  and  he 
chafed  under  a  semi-consciousness  of  the  fact.  He 
waited,  knowing  that  Marley  would  burst  forth 
again. 

"I'll  have  to  get  a  job,"  Marley  said  at  that 
moment,  bitterly,  "and  go  to  work;  that's  all."  And 
then  he  laughed  harshly.  "Humph,  get  a  job — 
that's  the  biggest  job  of  all.  What  can  I  get  here 
in  Macochee,  I'd  like  to  know  ?" 

He  halted  and  turned  suddenly,  fiercely,  almost 
menacingly  on  Powell,  as  if  he  were  the  cause  of 
his  predicament. 

"I've  told  you  already  it's  no  place  for  you,"  said 
Powell,  quietly. 

"But  where'll  I  go  ?"  Marley  held  out  his  hands 


pL6fi 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE. 

witH  a  gesture  that  was  pleading,  pathetia  Tliiis 
lie  waited  for  Powell's  reply. 

Powell  smoked  thoughtfully;  for  a  moment  and 
then  began: 

"When  I  was  going  to  the  law  school  in  Cin- 
cinnati, there  was  a  young  fellow  in  my  class — a 
great  friend  of  mine.  He  was  poor,  and  I  was  poor 
— God !  how  poor  we  were !"  Powell  paused  in  this 
retrospect  of  poverty.  "That  was  why  we  were 
such  friends, — our  poverty  gave  us  a  common  in- 
terest. This  fellow  came  from  up  in  Hardin 
County;  he  was  tall,  lean  and  gawky,  the  worst 
jay  you  ever  saw.  When  we  had  graduated,  I 
supposed  he  would  go  home,  maybe  to  Kenton — 
that  was  his  county-seat.  WTien  we  were  bidding 
each  other  good-by — ^I'll  never  forget  the  day,  it 
was  June,  hot  as  hell ;  and  we  had  left  the  old  law 
school  in  Walnut  Street  and  were  standing  there 
by  the  Tyler-Davidson  fountain  in  Fifth  Street. 
I  said,  *Well,  we'll  see  each  other  once  in  a  while; 
we  won't  be  far  apart.'  He  looked  at  me  and  said, 
'I  don't  know  about  that'  'Why  ?' I  asked.  'Well,' 
he  said,  'I'm  going  to  Chicago.'  I  looked  at  him 
in  surprise.     He  was  out  at  the  elbows  then,  and 

166 


LOVE  AND  A  LIVING 

had  hardly  enough  money  to  get  home  on.  Then 
the  ridiculousness  of  it  struck  me,  and  I  laughed. 
*Why,  you'll  starve  to  death  there!'  I  said.  He 
only  smiled."  Powell  paused,  to  whet  Marley's 
appetite,  perhaps,  for  the  foregone  denouement. 

"That  jay,"  Powell  said,  when  he  had  allowed 
sufficient  time  to  elapse,  "that  jay  I  laughed  at  is 
Judge  Johuson.  of  the  United  States  Circuit 
Court." 

The  story  saddened  Marley.  With  his  faculty  of 
conceiving  a  whole  drama  at  once,  he  caught  in  an 
instant  the  trials  Judge  Johnson  had  gone  through 
before  he  won  to  his  station  of  ease  and  honor ;  he 
saw  the  privations,  the  sacrifices,  the  hardships, 
the  endless  strivings,  plottings,  schemings ;  it  wea- 
ried and  depressed  him ;  his  frightened  mind  hung 
back,  clung  to  the  real,  the  present,  the  known, 
found  a  relief  in  picturing  the  seeming  security  of 
a  man  like  Wade  Powell,  in  a  town,  where  he  knew 
everybody  and  was  known  by  everybody.  He 
shrank  from  hearing  more  of  the  judge;  he  wished 
to  stay  with  his  thought  in  Macochee. 

"How  do  young  men  get  a  start  in  places  like 
Macochee?"  he  asked,  and  then  he  added  in  de- 

167, 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

spairing  argument:  "They  do  stay,  they  do  get 
along  somehow,  they  make  livings,  and  raise  fami- 
lies ;  the  town  grows  and  does  business,  the  popula- 
tion increases,  it  doesn't  die  off." 

"Well,"  said  Wade  Powell,  approaching  the 
problem  with  the  generalities  its  mystery  de^ 
manded,  "some  of  them  marry  rich  women,  but 
that  industry  is  about  played  out  now;  the  for- 
tunes are  divided  up ;  some  of  them,  most  of  them, 
are  content  to  eke  out  small  livings,  clerking  in 
stores  and  that  kind  of  thing ;  about  the  only  ones 
that  get  ahead  any  are  traders ;  they  barter  around, 
first  in  one  business,  then  in  another;  they  run  a 
grocery,  then  sell  it  out  and  buy  a  livery-stable; 
then  they  dabble  in  real  estate  a  while ;  finally  they 
skin  some  one  out  of  a  farm  and  then  they  go  on 
skinning,  a  little  at  a  time;  by  the  time  they're 
eld,  people  forget  their  beginningsi  and  they  be- 
come respectable;  then  they  join  the  church,  like 
Selah  Dudley." 

Powell  stopped  a  moment,  then  he  began  again. 

"The  lawyers  get  along  God  knows  how;  the 
doctors,  well,  they  never  starve,  for  people  will 
get  sick,  or  think  they're  sick,  which  is  better  yet; 


168 


\ 


LOVE  AI^D  A  LIVIIsTG 

then  there  are  a  few  preachers  who  are  supported  in 
a  poor  way  by  their  congregations.  When  a  man 
fails,  he  goes  into  the  insurance  business." 

Powell  smoked  contemplatively  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

"Sometimes,"  he  resumed  presently,  "I  feel  as 
if  I  were  tottering  on  the  verge  of  the  insurance 
business  myself." 

Marley  looked  at  Powell,  who  had  relapsed  into 
silence,  his  head  lowered,  his  eyes  fixed  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  there  was  something  pathetic  in  the  fig- 
ure, or  would  have  been,  but  for  the  humor  that 
saved  every  situation  for  Powell.  There  was,  how- 
ever, something  appealing,  and  something  to  inspire 
affection,  too.  Marley's  gaze  recalled  Powell,  and 
he  glanced  up  with  a  smile. 

"I  reckon  you've  gathered  from  my  remarks," 
said  Powell,  "that  I  consider  success  chiefly  from 
a  monetary  standpoint,  but  I  don't.  The  main 
business  of  life  is  living,  and  the  trouble  with  the 
world  is  that  it  is  too  busy  getting  ready  to  live 
to  find  the  time  for  life ;  it  has  tied  itself  up  with 
a  thousand  chains  of  its  own  forging  and  it  has  had 
to  postpone  living  from  time  to  time  until  most 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

people  have  put  the  beginning  of  life  at  the  gate- 
v/aj  of  death;  meanwhile  they're  busy  gathering 
things,  like  magpies,  and  those  that  gather  the 
most  are  considered  the  best;  thej  have  come  to 
think  that  people  are  divided  into  two  classes,  good 
and  bad ;  the  good  are  those  who  own,  the  bad  those 
who  don't,  and  the  good  think  their  business  is  to 
put  down  the  bad.  IsTow,  here  in  Gordon  County, 
we  have  about  everything  a  man  needs ;  the  spring- 
comes  and  the  summer,  and  the  autumn  and  the 
winter ;  the  rain  falls  and  the  winds  blow  and  the 
sun  shines,  and  I've  noticed  that  Lighttown  gets 
about  as  much  rain  as  Main  Street,  and  Gooseville 
about  as  much  wind  as  Scioto  Street ;  the  sun  seems 
to  shine  pretty  much  alike  on  the  niggers  loafing 
in  Market  Space  and  on  old  Selah  Dudley  and 
Judge  Blair,  bowing  like  Christians  to  each  other 
in  the  Square.  The  trees  are  the  same  color  wher- 
ever they  grow,  and  I  don't  see  any  reason  why 
people  shouldn't  be  happy  if  they'd  only  let  one 
another  be  happy.  !N'ow,  I  would  have  lived,  but  I 
didn't  have  time.  I  thought  when  I  began  that 
I'd  have  to  do  as  the  rest  were  doing,  get  hold  of 
things,  and  I  saw  that  if  I  did,  I'd  have  to  get 

170 


LOVE  AKB  A  LIVING 

my  share  away  from  them ;  well,  I  made  a  failure 
of  that,  being  too  soft  inside  someway;  that  was 
all  right  too,  but  meanwhile  I  was  wasting  time, 
and  putting  off  living — ^now  it's  too  late." 

Mar  ley  looked  at  him  in  perplexity,  not  knowing 
how  to  take  him. 

^'I  know,"  he  said  presently.  "But  what  am  I 
going  to  do  ?  I  can  live  all  right,  but  I  have  to  do 
better  than  that;  I  want  to  get  married." 

^^Married,"  mused  Powell,  "married!  Well,  I 
got  married." 

Marley  was  interested.  He  had  never  heard 
Powell  speak  of  his  wife,  and  he  feared  what  he 
was  about  to  say;  for  that  instant  Powell's  stand- 
ing  in  his  estimation  trembled. 

"And  that  was  the  only  sensible  thing  I  ever 
did." 

Marley  felt  a  great  relief. 

"But  I  don't  know  that  I  did  right  by  Mary;  I 
didn't  do  her  any  good,  I  reckon ;  still,  she's  borne 
up  somehow ;  I  wish  I  had  a  sky  full  of  sunlight  to 
pour  over  her." 

Powell  walked  to  his  window,  and  looked  across 
into  the  Court-House  yard  where  the  leaves  were 

171 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

falling  slowly  from  the  Maple-trees.  Marley  hoped 
that  he  would  go  on,  and  say  more  of  his  wife,  but 
he  was  silent.     Presently  he  turned  about 

'^Well,  Glenn,"  he  said;  "I  see  you're  stuck  on 
stiaying  in  Macochee,  and  I  don't  blame  you ;  and 
you  want  to  get  married,  and  that's  all  right.  May- 
be I  can  help  you  do  it." 

"How  ?"  said  Marley,  eagerly. 

"I've  got  a  scheme." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Well,  maybe  it'll  work,  maybe  it  won't.  I'd 
better  wait  till  I  see  whether  it  will  or  not  before  I 
tell  you." 

He  stood  and  smiled  at  Marley  a  moment,  and 
then  said:     "You  wait  here." 

And  he  turned  and  left  the  office.  Marley 
watched  Powell's  fine  figure  as  he  walked  across 
the  street  toward  the  Court  House,  a  great  love  of 
the  man  surging  within  him.  He  felt  secure  and 
safe;  a  new  warmth  spread  through  him.  At  the 
door  of  the  Court  House  Marley  saw  him  stop 
and  shake  hands  with  Garver,  the  sheriff.  The  two 
talked  a  moment,  then  turned  and  went  down 
toward  the  big  iron  gate  in  Main  Street,  and  dis- 

172 


LOVE  AND  A  LIYIlSra 

appeared.  Marley  waited  until  noon  and  then  lie 
went  home  to  his  dinner.  He  returned,  but  Powell 
did  not  come  back  to  the  office  all  the  afternoon. 


17S 


CHAPTEE  XVII 

THE     COUNTY     FAIR 

Marley  did  not  see  Wade  Powefll  again  for 
four  days;  a  Sunday  intervened,  and  Powell 
did  not  come  back  to  the  office  xmtil  Monday 
morning.  He  came  in  with,  a  solemn  air  upon 
him,  and  a  new  dignity  that  made  impress 
sive  the  seriousness  with  which  he  set  to  work  at 
the  pile  of  papers  on  his  desk,  as  if  he  were  be- 
ginning a  new  week  with  new  resolutions.  He 
was  freshly  shaved,  and  his  hair  had  been  cut;  it 
was  shorter  at  the  sides  and,  against  his  rough  sun- 
burnt neck,  showed  an  edge  of  clean  white  skin. 
His  newly  cropped  hair  gave  him  a  strange,  brislc 
appearance;  his  black  clothes  were  brushed,  his 
linen  fresh. 

He  spoke  to  Marley  but  a  few  times  and  then 
from  the  distant  altitude  of  his  new  dignity.    Once 

.  174 


THE  COUNTY  FAIR 

he  sent  Marlej  on  an  errand  to  Snider's  drug  store 
to  buy  a  large  blank  book ;  lie  said  lie  was  going  to 
keep  an  office  docket  after  that.  He  worked  on  his 
new  docket  half  the  morning,  then  he  carried  the 
docket  and  the  bundle  of  papers  over  to  Marley^s 
table,  flung  them  down  and  asked  Marley  if  he 
would  not  continue  the  work  for  him.  He  ex- 
plained the  system  he  had  devised  for  keeping  a 
record  of  his  cases ;  it  was  intricate  and  complete, 
but  in  many  of  his  cases  the  numbers  and  in  some 
instances  the  names  of  opposing  parties  were  miss- 
ing; Powell  told  Marley  to  go  over  to  the  Court 
House  and  get  the  missing  data  from  the  clerk. 

"I've  got  to  go  out  for  a  while,"  Powell  ex- 
plained. Then  he  hurried  away ;  he  seemed  to  be 
glad  to  escape  from  the  office  and  the  drudgery  of 
the  task  he  had  set  for  himself. 

Powell's  absence  weighed  on  Marley;  ho  was 
lonesome  in  the  deserted  office,  and  found  himself 
wondering  just  where  Powell  was  at  each  mo- 
ment; he  pictured  him  with  his  companions.  Col- 
onel Devlin,  Marshall  Scarff,  Sheriff  Garver,  old 
man  Brockton  and  Doc  Hall;  lately  it  had  been 
rumored  that  George  Halliday  had  been  admitted 

17^ 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

to  the  merry  group,  and  that  they  played  poker 
nightly  in  a  room  in  the  Coleman  Block.  Then 
Marley  would  picture  to  himself  Wade  Powell's 
wife;  he  had  never  seen  her,  but  he  had  an  idea 
of  her  appearance,  formed  from  no  description 
of  her,  but  created  out  of  his  own  fancy.  He  pic- 
tured her  as  a  graceful  little  woman,  with  a  cer- 
tain droop  to  her  figure;  but  try  as  he  would, 
he  could  not  see  her  face ;  it  was  a  blur  to  him,  yet 
it  gave  somehow  a  certain  expression  of  sweetness 
and  patience ;  sometimes,  by  an  effort,  he  could  see 
her  brow,  and  the  hair  above  it ;  the  hair  was  dark, 
and  parted  in  the  middle  with  some  gray  in  its 
rather  heavy  mass. 

Marley  could  never  discuss  Wade  Powell  with 
any  kind  of  satisfaction  with  Lavinia.  When  he 
spoke  of  him,  she  would  smile  and  affect  an  inter- 
est, but  he  could  detect  the  affectation,  and  he 
could  detect,  also,  a  certain  distance  in  her  atti- 
tude toward  Wade  Powell  or  the  thought  of  him, 
which  he  ascribed  to  the  influence  of  Judge  Blair's 
dislike.  Marley  saw  that  Lavinia  never  would  ac- 
cept Wade  Powell,  and  he  had  ceased  to  mention 
him  except  in  a  casual  manner.     Eor  some  like 

176 


,th:e  cotottt  paie 

reason  he  had  ceased  to  mention  Wade  Powell  at 
home ;  he  found  that  he  had  many  views  which  he 
could  not  share  with  those  nearest  him,  and  his 
inner  life  at  that  time  was  somewhat  lonely;  and 
aloof. 

He  had  not  told  Lavinia  of  Wade  Powell's  of- 
fer of  assistance,  nor  had  he  spoken  of  it  at  home. 
In  those  four  days  he  had  thought  much  of  it  and 
built  countless  hopes  upon  it;  he  had  thought  of 
all  the  possibilities,  and  taken  a  fine  delight  in  ex- 
amining each  one,  working  it  out  to  its  logical  end 
in  its  effect  upon  Lavinia  and  him  and  upon  their 
fortunes.  He  was  disappointed  when  Wade  Powell 
failed  to  refer  to  the  subject  again ;  he  would  have 
liked  to  discuss  the  disappointment  with  Lavinia; 
usually,  out  of  her  youthful  optimism  and  faith  in 
the  life  of  which  she  was  so  innocent,  she  could  re- 
assure him;  but  of  late  he  had  had  so  many  dis- 
appointments and  had  drawn  so  heavily  on  Lavin- 
ia's  resources  of  comfort  and  hope  that  he  had 
grown  wary,  almost  superstitiously  wary,  of  mak- 
ing any  further  drafts. 

When  Monday  came  and  Powell  did  not  renew 
the  subject,  nor  even  say  what  his  scheme  had  been, 

177 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

Marlej  concluded  tliat  Powell  had  forgotten  all 
about  it,  and  so  he  relinquished  the  hope  with  a 
sigh,  and  tried  to  forget  it  himself.  He  took  up 
his  studies  once  more;  but  he  made  poor  head- 
way ;  he  saw  with  chagrin  that  he  had  not  read  ten 
pages  of  law  in  as  many  days,  and  what  he  had 
read  he  could  not  remember.  When  he  tried  to 
review  it,  the  words  had  no  meaning  for  him,  nor 
could  he  wrest  any  from  them,  even  though  he 
ground  his  elbows  in  the  table  with  the  book  be- 
tween them  and  dug  his  fists  into  his  hair. 

That  was  the  week  of  the  Gordon  County  fair. 
Eor  a  month  every  fence  along  the  white  pikes  in 
the  country  had  borne  the  bills,  flaming  from  afar 
in  red  ink  the  date,  "Oct.  15 — 31.''  There  were, 
too,  lithographs  everywhere — on  boards  at  the 
monument,  at  the  Court  House,  on  the  town  hall, 
on  the  covered  bridge  over  Mad  River — litho- 
graphs picturing  the  exciting  finish  of  a  trotting 
race,  and  a  sedate  concourse  of  fat  cattle.  The 
fair  opened  Monday,  but  it  was  understood  that 
that  day  would  be  devoted  to  preparing  and  arrang- 
ing the  exhibits ;  the  fair  would  not  begin  in  earnest 
until  Tuesday;  the  big  day  would  be  Thursday. 

178 


THE  COmSfTY  FAIR 

Marlej  was  glad  that  fair  week  liad  come,  for 
the  chance  of  novelty  which  it  offered,  and,  too,  for 
the  excuse  it  gave  him;  he  would  not  study  that 
week,  but  in  the  general  festivity  try  to  forget 
the  problem  that  so  oppressed  him.  He  would  have 
liked  to  go  to  the  fair  every  day,  but  he  could  not, 
for  the  expense,  insignificant  as  it  seemed  to  be  to 
every  one  else  in  the  county,  was  not  insignificant 
to  him.  He  went,  however,  on  Wednesday  with 
his  father,  who,  with  the  love  of  horses  he  had  in- 
herited from  the  saddle-bag  days  of  Methodism, 
recklessly  attended  the  races.  Marley  thought  that 
this  visit  would  be  his  last,  but  on  Thursday  morn- 
ing he  met  Lawrence  in  the  Square. 

"Just  the  man  I'm  looking  for !"  said  Lavsrence. 

He  was  brisk,  alert,  important,  and  had  an  offi- 
cial air  which  was  explained  when  Marley  ob- 
served, on  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  the  badge  of  blue 
ribbon  that  proclaimed  an  officer  of  the  fair. 

"I  have  charge  of  the  tickets  this  year/'  he  said, 
"Want  to  go  ?    I'll  pass  you  in." 

Marley  was  glad  enough  to  accept, 

"I'll  have  to  go  around  to  the  office  and  tell 
Powell,"  he  said.    "I  was  away  all  day  yesterday." 

179 


THE  HAPPY.  AVEEAGE. 

"Oh,  nonsense,"  replied  Lawrence,  "that  won't 
make  any  difference ;  he's  been  full  for  two  days. 
This  is  his  big  time." 

Marlej  had  a  pang  as  he  saw  with  what  small 
seriousness  Lawrence  regarded  his  relation  to  the 
law;  it  reflected,  doubtless,  the  common  attitude 
of  the  community  toward  him  and  his  efforts. 

'^IVe  got  to  hurry,"  Lawrence  went  on;  "IVe 
got  a  rig  waiting  here;  you  can  ride  out  with  me." 

It  was  one  of  the  incomparable  afternoons  that 
autumn  brings  to  Ohio;  the  retreating  sun  was 
flashing  in  the  high,  blue  sky ;  the  air  was  fresh  and 
Marley  felt  it  full  of  energy  and  hope.  Lawrence 
drove  rapidly  through  the  throng  of  hurrying  ve- 
hicles that  crowded  the  road  to  the  fair-grounds, 
stirring  up  a  cloud  of  dust  that  covered  everything 
with  its  white  powder. 

Lawrence  left  him  at  the  gate,  being  too  full  of 
business  to  engage  in  the  weary  search  for  plea- 
sure, and  Marley  set  out  alone  across  the  scorched 
and  trampled  turf  for  the  grand  stand,  black  with 
people  for  the  races.  He  could  hear  the  nervous 
clamor  of  the  bell  in  the  judges'  stand,  the  notes 
of  the  hand-organ  at  the  squeaking  merry-go-round, 

180 


THE  COUNTY  FAIR 

the  incessant  thumping  of  the  bass  drum  that  made 
its  barbaric  music  for  the  side-show,  and  the  cries 
of  venders,  dominating  all  the  voices  of  the  thou^ 
sands  bent  in  their  silly  way  on  pleasure.  Once, 
calling  him  back  to  the  real,  to  the  peace  of  the 
commonplace,  he  heard  the  distant  tones  of  the 
town  clock  in  the  tower  that  stood,  a  mile  awaj, 
above  the  autumnal  trees* 

He  pressed  into  the  space  between  the  grand 
stand  and  the  whitewashed  fence  that  surrounded 
the  track;  through  the  palings  he  could  see  the 
stoop-shouldered  drivers,  bent  over  the  heavily 
breathing  trotters  they  jogged  to  and  fro;  above 
him,  in  the  grand  stand,  he  could  distinguish  cries 
and  laughs,  now  and  then  complete  excited  sen- 
tences, sometimes  voices  he  knew.  All  around 
him  the  farmers,  clumsy  in  their  ready-made 
clothes  and  bearing  their  buggy  whips  as  some 
insignia  of  office,  solemnly  watched  the  races  and 
talked  of  horses. 

The  sense  of  kinship  with  the  crowd  that  had  un- 
erringly drawn  Marley  left  him  the  moment  he 
was  in  the  crowd,  and  a  loneliness  replaced  the 
sense  of  kinship.     He  looked  about  for  some  one 

181 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

he  knew.  He  began,  here  and  there,  to  recognize 
faces,  just  as  he  had  recognized  voices  in  the  din 
above  him ;  he  began  to  analyze  and  to  classify  the 
crowd,  and  he  laughed  somewhat  cynically  when  he 
saw  numbers  of  politicians  going  about  among  the 
farmers,  shaking  their  hands,  greeting  them  ef- 
fusively, calling  them  by  their  Christian  names. 
Then  suddenly  he  saw  Wade  Powell.  The  crowd 
at  the  point  where  Powell  stood,  nucleated  with 
him  as  its  center;  by  the  way  the  men  were  laugh- 
ing, and  by  the  way  Powell  was  trying  not  to 
laugh,  Marley  knew  that  he  had  been  telling  them 
one  of  hia  stories,  and  from  the  self-conscious, 
guilty  expressions  on  certain  of  the  faces,  Marley 
knew  that  the  story  was  probably  one  that  should 
not  have  been  told.  Several  countrymen  hung  on 
the  edge  of  the  group,  not  identifying  themselves 
with  it,  yet  anxious  to  have  a  look  at  Wade  Powell, 
who  enjoyed  the  fame  of  the  coimty's  best  criminal 
lawyer. 

When  Powell  saw  Marley  he  called  to  him,  and 
when  Marley  drew  near,  he  introduced  him,  some- 
how mysteriously,  almost  surreptitiously,  to  the 
man  at  his  elbow.    PowelFs  face  was  very  red,  and 

182 


THE  COraSTTY  FAIR 

his  eyes  were  brilliant.  The  mystery  he  put  into 
his  introduction  was  but  a  part  of  his  manner. 

"This  is  Mr.  Carman,  of  Pleasant  Grove  Town- 
ship, Glenn,"  he  said,  bending  over,  as  if  no  one 
should  hear  the  name;  and  then  he  added,  in  a 
husky  whisper:  "He's  our  candidate  for  county 
clerk,  you  know." 

Marley  saw  something  strange,  forbidding,  in 
Carman's  face,  but  he  could  not  tell  what  it  was. 
It  was  a  red,  sunburnt  face,  closely  shaven,  with 
a  short  mustache  burned  by  the  sun;  the  smile  it 
wore  seemed  to  be  fixed  and  impersonal.  Plainly 
the  man  had  spent  his  days  out  of  doors,  though,  it 
seemed,  not  healthfully,  for  his  skin  was  dry  and 
hardened,  and  his  neck  thin  and  wrinkled;  he 
seemed  to  have  known  the  hard  work  and  the  poor 
nourishment  of  a  farm.  Marley  wondered  what 
was  the  matter  with  Carman's  face.  But  Powell 
was  drawing  them  aside. 

"Come  over  here,"  he  was  saying,  "where  we 
can  be  alone." 

He  led  them  to  a  comer  of  the  little  yard ;  no  one 
was  near;  they  were  quite  out  of  the  crowd  which 
was  pressing  to  the  whitewashed  picket  fence,  air 

183 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

tracted  by  the  exoitement  of  tlie  race  for  whidi 
the  horses  were  just  then  scoring. 

"Now,  Jake,"  Powell  began,  speaking  to  Car- 
man, "this  is  the  young  man  I  was  talking  to  you 
about" 

Carman,  still  smiling  bis  dry  meaningless  smile, 
turned  his  face  half  away. 

"I  reckon,"  Powell  went  on,  "that  I  might  be 
able  to  do  you  some  good,  if  I  took  off  my  coat." 
Powell  spoke  with  a  pride  in  his  own  influence; 
Marley  had  never  known  him  to  come  so  near 
to  boasting  before. 

Carman  was  looking  away ;  and  Powell,  his  own 
eyes  narrowed,  was  watching  him  closely.  Once 
he  winked  at  Marley,  and  Marley  was  mystified; 
he  did  not  know  what  play  was  going  on  here ;  he 
looked  from  Carman  to  Powell,  and  back  to  Car- 
man again.  There  was  some  strange  fascination 
about  Carman ;  Marley  felt  a  slight  relief  when  he 
discovered  that  there  was  something  peculiar 
about  Carman^s  eyes. 

"I  haven't  said  anything  to  Marley  about  the 
matter,  Jake,"  Powell  said.     "Maybe  I'd  better 


184 


THE  COUJSTTY  FAIR 

tell  him.  Hell!  He  might  not  want  it — I  don't 
know." 

Carman  turned  suddenly;  his  face  had  been  in 
the  shadow;  now  it  came  into  the  sunlight,  and 
Marley  saw  that  while  the  pupil  of  Carman's  right 
eye  contracted  suddenly,  the  pupil  of  his  left  eye 
remained  fixed;  it  was  larger  than  the  pupil  of 
the  right  eye,  which  had  shrunk  to  a  pin-point  in 
the  sharp  light  of  the  sun.  Marley  looked  closely, 
the  left  eye  seemed  to  be  swimming  in  liquid;  it 
almost  hurt  Marley's  eyes  to  look  at  it. 

"I've  been  telling  Carman,  Glenn,"  Powell  was 
explaining,  "that  if  he  is  elected — and  gets  into 
the  Court  House — ^" 

Marley  looked  at  Powell  expectantly. 

"I  want  him,"  Powell  went  on,  "to  make  you 
his  deputy." 

Marley  saw  it  all  in  a  flash;  this  was  what 
Powell  had  meant  that  day  a  fortnight  ago;  he 
felt  his  great  affection  for  Powell  glow  and 
warm;  Lavinia  would  appreciate  Powell  after 
this.  It  meant  salary,  position,  a  place  in  which 
he  might  complete  his  law  studies  at  his  leisure ; 
it  meant  a  living,   a  home,   marriage,   Lavinia! 

185 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

He  looked  all  his  gratitude  at  Powell,  who  smiled 
appreciatively. 

Carman  had  turned  his  face  away  again,  he 
was  still  smiling,  and  plucking  now  at  his  chin; 
Marley  waited,  and  Powell  finally  grew  impatient. 

"Well,  Jake,  what  do  you  say?" 

Carman  waited  a  moment  longer,  then  slowly 
turned  about  Marley  watched  him  narrowly,  he 
saw  the  pupil  of  his  right  eye  contract,  the  pupil 
of  the  watery  left  eye  remained  fixed;  then,  for 
the  first  time.  Carman  looked  steadily  at  Marley 
and  for  the  first  time  he  spoke. 

"Well,"  he  said,  and  he  stopped  to  spit  out  his 
tobacco,  "you  know  I'm  always  ready  to  do  a  friend 
a  good  turn." 

Powell  looked  Carman  over  carefully  a  moment, 
and  then  he  said, 

"All  right,  Jake." 

Just  then  there  was  a  rush  of  hoofs,  a  shock  of 
excitement,  and  they  heard  a  loud  yell : 

"Go!" 

And  they  rushed  to  the  fence  of  the  whitewashed 
palings. 


186 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE   EOAD   TO   MINGO 


Lavinia  sat  rocking  quietly  back  and  forth, 
and  stitched  away  with  her  colored  silks  on 
her  tambourine  frames,  while  Marley  told  her 
of  the  fortune  Wade  Powell  had  brought  them. 
He  told  the  story  briefly,  and  he  tried  to  tell  it 
simply;  he  did  not  comment  on  PowelFs  kindness 
or  generosity,  but  let  his  deeds  speak  for  themselves 
in  Powell's  behalf.  When  lie  had  done,  Marley 
waited  for  Lavinia' s  comment,  but  she  rocked  on 
a  moment  and  then  held  her  tambourine  frames  at 
arm's  length  to  study  the  sweet  pea  she  was  mak- 
ing. Wben  she  had  done  so,  she  dropped  her  sew- 
ing suddenly  into  her  lap,  and  looking  up,  said : 
"He  thinks  everything  of  you,  doesn't  he?" 
"I  believe  he  likes  me,"  Marley  said,  as  mod- 
estly as  he  could  put  it 

187 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

"Who  could  help  it?" 

Lavinia  looked  at  Marley,  and  he  leaned  over, 
and  took  her  hands. 

"I  am  glad  you  can't,  sweetheart,"  he  said. 

"Do  jou  know,"  she  went  on,  "I  think  it  is  be- 
cause you  have  been  kind  and  good  to  him — just 
as  you  are  kind  and  good  to  every  one.  His  life 
is  lonely;  he  is  an  outcast,  almost;  no  one  cares 
for  him,  and  he  appreciates  your  goodness." 

Pity  was  the  utmost  feeling  she  could  produce 
for  Wade  Powell  out  of  her  kindly  heart  But 
Marley,  though  he  could  accept  her  homage  to  the 
full  without  embarrassment,  could  not  acquiesce 
to  this  length,  and  he  laughed  at  her. 

"ISTonsense,  Lavinia,"  he  said.  "You  have  the 
thing  all  topsy-turvy.  It  is  Wade  Powell  who  has 
been  kind  to  me;  it  is  he  and  not  I  who  is  good 
to  every  one.  He  has  a  heart  brimful  of  the  milk 
of  human  kindness.  You  have  no  idea,  and  no 
one  has,  of  the  good  he  does  in  a  thousand  little 
ways.  He  tries  to  hide  it  all;  he  acts  as  if  he 
were  ashamed  of  it,  but  there  are  hundreds  of 
people  in  Macochee  who  worship  him,  and  would 
be  ready  to  die  for  him,  if  it  would  help  him  any. 

188 


THE  KOAD  TO  MINGO 

Don't  think  lie  has  no  friends !  He  lias  them  by 
the  score — of  course,  they  are  all  poor;  I  reckon 
that's  why  they  are  generally  unknown." 

"But  isn't  he  cruel?" 

Marley's  eyes  widened  in  astonishment 

"I  mean,"  Lavinia  said  correctively,  "isn't  he 
kind  of  sarcastic  ?" 

"Well,"  Marley  admitted,  "he  is  that  at  times. 
I  think  he  tries  to  hide  his  better  qualities;  I 
think  he  tries  to  cloak  his  finer  nature  with  a 
rough  garb.  Perhaps  it  is  because  he  is  really  so 
sensitive.  But  he  is,  to  my  mind,  a  truly  great 
man.    He  is  a  sort  of  tribune  of  the  people." 

"But,  Glenn,  what  about  his  drinking?" 

"Well,  that's  the  trouble,"  Marley  said,  shaking 
his  head.  "If  he  had  let  liquor  alone  he'd  have 
been  away  up." 

Lavinia  was  silent  a  moment,  her  brow  was  knit 
in  little  wrinkles. 

"Glenn,"  she  said  presently,  "I  have  been  think- 
ing." 

"Well?" 

"That  with  your  influence  you  might  reform  him 
— out  of  his  liking  for  you,  don't  you  know  ?" 

189 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

She  raised  her  blue  eyes.  He  laughed  outright, 
and  then  took  her  face  between  his  two  hands. 

"You  dear  little  thing!"  he  said,  with  the  pat- 
ronage of  a  lover. 

Lavinia  regained  her  dignity. 

"But  couldn't  you  ?"  she  demanded. 

"Why,  dear  heart,"  Marley  said,  "he  would 
think  it  presumption.    I  wouldn't  dare." 

Lavinia  shook  her  head  in  the  hopelessness  of 
the  reformer,  and  took  up  her  tambourine  frames 
again  with  a  sigh. 

"It's  a  pity,"  she  said,  relinquishing  the  subject 
with  the  hope,  "it's  such  a  pity." 

"But  you  haven't  told  me  what  you  think 
of  the  scheme." 

"You  know,  dear,  that  whatever  you  think  best 
I  think  best." 

Marley  was  disappointed. 

"You  don't  seem  to  be  very  enthusiastic  over 
the  prospect,"  he  complained.  "I  thought  you'd 
be  glad  as  I  to  know  that  I  can  at  last  make  a 
place  for  myself  in  the  world — and  a  home  and  a 
living  for  you." 

Lavinia  looked  up. 

190 


THE  EOAD  TO  MII^GO 

"I  never  had  any  doubt  of  that,  Glenn,"  she 
said  simply. 

He  saw  the  trust  and  confidence  she  had  in  him, 
a  trust  and  a  confidence  he  had  never  felt  him- 
self, and  had  never  before  been  wholly  aware  of 
in  her.  He  saw  that  she  had  never  shared  those 
fears  which  had  so  long  oppressed  him^  and  into 
his  love  there  came  a  devout  thankfulness.  He 
felt  strong,  hopeful,  confident,  victorious.  He  had 
a  sudden  fancy  that  it  would  be  like  this  when 
they  were  married ;  he  would  sit  at  his  own  hearth, 
with  a  fire  crackling  merrily,  and  the  rain  and 
wind  beating  outside — for  the  first  time  he  could 
indulge  such  a  fancy ;  it  allowed  him,  now  that  his 
future  was  assured,  to  come  up  to  it  and  to  take 
hold  of  it;  it  became  a  reality. 

The  judge  was  not  at  home  that  night,  l^ow 
and  then  Marley  could  hear  Mrs.  Blair  speak  a 
word  to  Connie  and  Chad,  over  their  lessons  in 
the  sitting-room ;  school  had  commenced,  and  Con- 
nie having  that  year  entered  the  High  School  had 
taken  on  a  new  dignity,  in  consequence  of  which 
she  was   treating   Chad  with   a   divine   patience 


191 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

that  brought  its  own  peace  into  the  Blair  house- 
bold. 

They  talked  for  a  long  time  of  their  plana. 
Marley  would  take  his  new  place  in  December 
when  the  new  county  clerk  went  into  office,  and 
he  told  Lavinia  all  the  advantages  of  the  position. 
It  would  extend  his  acquaintance,  it  would  give 
him  a  familiarity  with  court  proceedings  that  other- 
wise he  could  not  have  acquired  in  years.  He 
meant  to  study  hard,  and  be  admitted  to  the  bar. 
They  could  have  a  little  cottage  and  live  simply 
and  economically ;  he  would  save  part  of  his  salary, 
and  when  he  hung  out  his  shingle  he  would  have 
enough  money  laid  by  to  support  them,  modestly, 
until  he  could  establish  himself  in  a  practice. 
He  laid  it  all  before  her  plainly,  convincingly. 
He  was  charmed  with  the  practicability  of  the 
plan,  with  its  conservatism,  its  common  sense. 
They  might  as  well  be  married. 

"Can't  we?''  he  asked.  He  trembled  as  he 
asked;  his  happiness  had  never  come  so  close  be- 
fore. 

Lavinia  dropped  her  embroidery  frames  into  her 


192 


THE  EOAD  TO  MIKGO 

lap  and  looked  up  at  him.  The  question  in  her 
eyes  was  almost  bom  of  fear. 

"Eight  away  V^  exclaimed  Lavinia. 

"Well,  almost  right  away/'  Marley  answered. 
"Sometime  this  winter,  anyway." 

"This  winter!    So  soon?" 

"So  soon  I"  Marley  repeated  her  words,  almost 
in  mockery. 

"But  we  mustn't  be  married  in  the  winter," 
she  said,  "we've  always  planned  to  be  married  in 
June — our  month,  you  know." 

"What's  the  use  of  waiting?" 

"But  papa  and  mama — " 

This  quick  rushing  to  the  parental  cover,  this 
clinging  to  the  habit  of  years  struck  a  jealousy 
through  Marley's  heart.  His  face  fell  and  he 
looked  hurt. 

"Can't  we,  dear  ?"  he  pleaded. 

Lavinia  looked  at  him,  and  she  said  shyly: 

"If  you  say  so,  Glenn." 

They  were  solemn  in  their  joy  and  made  their 
plans  in  detail.  They  would  be  married  quietly, 
Lavinia  said,  and  at  home.    Doctor  Marley  would 


193 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

perform  the  ceremony,  and  Marley  was  touched 
by  this  recognition  of  his  father. 

The  fall  worked  a  new  energy  in  Marley,  and, 
with  the  assurance  that  his  labors  were  now  soon 
to  bear  fruit,  he  found  that  he  could  study  better 
than  ever  before.  He  worked  faithfully  over  his 
books  every  morning,  and  he  worked  so  hard  that 
he  felt  himself  entitled  to  a  portion  of  each  after- 
noon. He  would  leave  the  office  at  four  o'clock. 
Lavinia  would  be  waiting  for  him,  and  they  would 
try  to  get  out  of  sight  before  Connie  returned  from 
school.  She  might  be  expected  any  moment  to 
come  slowly  down  Ward  Street  entwined  with 
one  of  her  school-girl  friends.  They  did  not  like, 
somehow,  to  meet  Connia  The  smile  she  gave 
them  was  apt  to  be'  disconcerting.  They  met 
smiles  in  the  faces  of  others  they  encountered  in 
their  walks,  but  they  were  of  a  quality  more  kindly 
than  Connie's  smile. 

They  had  walked  one  afternoon  to  the  edge  of 
town  where  Ward  Street  climbed  a  hill  and  be- 
came the  road  to  Mingo.  At  their  feet  lay  the 
little  fields,  in  the  distance  they  could  see  a  man 
plowing  with  two  white  horses;  off  to  the  right 

194 


THE  ROAD  TO  MIISTGO 

lay  the  water-works  pond,  gleaming  in  the  after- 
noon siin. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  Marley  said. 

"I  was  thinking  that  it  would  be  nice  to  live  in 
the  country." 

"I  was  thinking  that  very  thing  myself!"  ex- 
claimed Marley.  Their  eyes  met,  and  they  thrilled 
over  this  unity  in  their  thoughts.  It  was  mar- 
velous to  them,  mysterious,  prophetic. 

"Some  day  I  could  buy  a  farm,"  Marley  said; 
"out  that  way." 

"Yes,"  Lavinia  replied,  "away  off  there,  beyond 
those  low  trees.    Do  you  see  ?" 

She  pointed,  but  Marley  did  not  look  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  trees;  he  looked  at  her  finger.  It 
was  so  small,  so  round,  so  white.  He  bent  forward, 
and  kissed  the  finger. 

"Oh,  but  you  must  look  where  I'm  pointing," 
said  Lavinia. 

They  drew  closely  together.  Marley  took  La- 
vinia's  hand  and  they  stood  long  in  silence. 

"We  could  have  a  country  home  there,"  Marley 
said  after  a  while,  "with  a  hedge  about  it  and 
stables  and  horses  and  dogs.    It  would  be  close  to 

195 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

town ;  I  could  go  in  in  the  morning  and  out  again 
in  the  afternoon." 

"And  I  could  drive  you  in,  and  then  come  for 
jou  in  the  afternoon — when  court  adjourned." 

"Oh,  I  would  have  a  man  to  drive  me,"  said 
Marlej. 

"But  couldn't  I  ride  in  beside  you  ?" 

'^Yes ;  you  could  sit  beside  me,  on  the  back 
seat;  we'd  have  an  open  carriage." 

"A  victoria !"  exclaimed  Lavinia.  "It  would 
be  the  only  one  in  Macochee !" 

"Is  that  what  they  call  them  ?" 

"Victorias  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know,  with  a  low  seat  behind  and  a  high 
seat  for  the  driver.  You  have  a  green  cushion 
for  your  feet  You  w^ould  look  so  handsome  in 
one,  Glenn.  You  would  sit  very  erect  and  proud, 
with  your  hands  on  a  cane.  You  would  have  white 
hair  then." 

"We  would  be  old  ?"  he  asked  in  some  dismay. 

"T^o,  no,"  said  Lavinia,  trying  to  reconcile  her 
dreams,  "not  old  exactly.  But  I  dote  on  white 
hair.     It's  so  distinguished  for  a  lawyer  with  a 

196 


THE  KOAD  TO  MmGO 

country  home.  Of  course  we'll  have  to  get  old 
sometime." 

"We'll  grow  old  together,  dear." 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  "and  think  of  the  long 
years  of  happiness !" 

They  stood  and  gazed,  looking  down  the  long 
vista  of  years  that  stretched  before  them  as  smooth 
and  peaceful  as  the  white  road  to  Mingo. 

A  subtile  change  was  passing  over  the  face  of 
the  road;  shadows  were  stealing  toward  it,  and 
it  was  growing  gray.  The  trees  that  still  were 
green  were  darkening  to  a  deeper  green,  but  the 
colors  of  those  that  had  changed  flamed  all  the 
brighter.  The  sun  shone  more  golden  on  the  shocks 
of  com,  the  sky  was  glowing  pink  in  the  west,  the 
water-works  pond  was  glistening  as  the  sun's  shafts 
struck  it  more  obliquely.  A  fine  powder  hung  in 
the  peaceful  air. 

"How  beautiful  the  fall  is !"  said  Lavinia. 

"Yes,  I  love  it,"  said  Marley.  "But  do  you 
know,  dear,  that  I  never  liked  it  before  ?  It  always 
seemed  sad  to  me.  But  you  have  taught  me  to 
love  many  things.  You  don't  know  all  that  you 
have  done  for  me !" 

197 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

She  stood  in  her  blue  dress,  with  her  hands 
folded  before  her.  Marley  looked  at  her  hands, 
and  at  her  white  throat,  and  at  her  hair,  its  brown 
turned  to  a  golden  hue  by  the  clear  light;  then 
he  looked  into  her  eyes.  A  sudden  emotion,  almost 
religious  in  its  ecstasy,  came  over  him.  He  bent 
foi*ward. 

"Oh !"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  know  how  beau- 
tiful you  are !    I  worship  you !" 

'T)on't,  Glenn/'  she  said,  "don't  say  that!"  Tha 
reflection  of  a  superstitious  fear  lay  in  her  eyes. 

"Why?"  he  said  defiantly.  "It's  all  true.  You 
are  my  religion." 

"You  frighten  me,"  she  said. 

Marley  laughed. 

"Why !"  he  exclaimed,  "there's  nothing  to  fear. 
Isn't  our  future  assured  now?" 


198 


CHAPTER  XIX 


WAKING 


Carman  was  inducted  into  office  the  first 
Monday  in  December,  quietly,  as  the  Republi- 
can said,  as  though  it  reflected  credit  on 
the  new  county  clerk  as  a  man  who  modestly 
avoided  the  demonstration  that  might  have  been 
expected  under  such  circumstances.  Marley,  in 
the  hope  of  seeing  his  own  name,  eagerly  ran  his 
eyes  down  the  few  lines  that  were  devoted  to  the 
occurrence,  but  his  name  was  not  there,  the  Bepuh- 
licans  reporter,  as  he  felt,  being  a  man  who  lacked 
a  sense  of  the  relative  importance  of  events. 

Marley  had  taken  no  part  in  the  campaign, 
though  Wade  Powell  wished  him  to,  and  suggested 
every  now  and  then  that  he  speak  at  some  of  the 
meetings  that  were  being  held  in  the  country  school- 
houses.    Powell  said  it  would  be  good  practice  for 

19a 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

him  in  a  profession  where  so  much  talking  has  to 
be  done,  and  he  found  other  reasons  why  Marley 
should  do  this,  as  that  it  would  extend  his  acquaint- 
ance, and  give  him  a  standing  with  the  party ;  but, 
though  Marley  was  always  promising,  he  was 
always  postponing ;  the  thought  of  standing  up  and 
speaking  to  the  vast  audiences  his  imagination  was 
able  to  crowd  into  a  little  school-room  filled  him 
with  fear,  and  he  never  could  bring  himself  to  con- 
sent to  any  definite  time.  Besides  this,  he  could 
not  find  an  evening  he  was  willing  to  spend  away 
from  Lavinia. 

When  election  was  over,  he  expected  that  he 
would  hear  from  Carman,  but  he  had  no  word 
from  him.  Several  times  he  was  on  the  point  of 
mentioning  the  subject  to  Wade  Powell,  but  some- 
how, with  a  reticence  for  which  he  reproached 
himself,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  it.  He 
watched  the  papers  closely,  but  he  found  it  quite 
as  hard  to  find  in  them  any  information  about  Car- 
man as  on  any  other  subject,  except,  possibly,  the 
banal  personalities  of  the  town  as  they  related 
themselves  to  the  coming  and  going  of  the  trains. 

But  at  lastj  on  the  day  it  had  occurred  to  the 

200 


WAKmG 

reporter  to  clironicle  the  fact  that  Carman  had  been 
inducted  into  office,  the  little  item  struck  Marley 
sadly ;  he  felt  a  sense  of  detachment  from  Carman ; 
he  could  not  altogether  realize  that  intimate  rela- 
tionship to  Carman  in  his  new  official  position  that 
he  felt  belonged  to  one  who  was  to  be  Carman's 
deputy.  In  his  imagination  he  saw  Carman  sham- 
bling about  in  the  dingy  room  where  the  county 
clerk  kept  the  records  of  the  court,  his  knees  un- 
hinging loosely  at  each  step,  his  shoulders  bent,  his 
hands  in  his  trousers  pockets,  his  right  eye  squint- 
ing here  and  there  observantly,  the  left  fixed,  im- 
pervious to  light  and  shadow,  to  all  that  was  going 
on  in  the  world.  He  wondered  if  Carman,  as  he 
looked  about,  had  been  thinking  in  any  wise  of 
him  or  had  seen  him  as  a  part  of  the  place  where 
his  life  was  to  be  lived  for  the  next  three  years. 

Marley  read  the  paper  at  supper  time;  in  the 
evening  he  went  to  see  Lavinia.  She  too  had  read 
the  paper. 

"I  know,"  she  said  simply,  and  he  was  grateful 
for  her  quick  intuition.    ''Have  you  seen  him  V* 

"No." 

"Are  you  going  to  V 

201 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

"Would  your 

"Why,  certainly,  at  once." 

Marley  went  to  the  Court  House  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning.  He  feared  he  might  have  arrived 
too  early,  but  Carman  had  the  virtue  that  goes 
farther  perhaps  than  any  other  in  the  affections 
and  approval  of  men,  he  rose  early.  He  had  been 
at  his  office  since  long  before  seven  o'clock. 

Marley  found  the  new  county  clerk  at  his  desk, 
obviously  ready  for  business.  The  desk  was  clean, 
with  a  cleanness  that  was  rather  a  barrenness  than 
an  order.  The  ink-wells,  the  pens,  with  their  shin- 
ing new  steel  points,  the  fresh  blotters,  all  were 
laid  on  the  clean  pad  with  geometrical  exactness. 
The  pigeon  holes  were  empty,  but  they  were  all 
lettered  as  if  the  mind  of  the  new  county  clerk 
had  grappled  with  the  future,  come  off  victorious, 
and  provided  for  every  possible  emergency,  though 
there  were  certain  contingencies  that  had  impressed 
him  as  ^^Miscellaneous.'' 

Carman  looked  up  with  the  obliging  expression 
of  the  new  public  official,  but  Marley's  heart  in- 
stantly sank  with  a  foreboding  that  told  him  he 
might  aa  well  turn  about  then  and  go.     It  was 


WAKIKG 

plain  that  Carman  saw  notliing  in  the  call  beyond 
a  mere  incident  of  the  day's  work. 

Marley  took  a  chair  near  Carman's  desk.  He 
looked  at  Carman  once^  and  then  looked  instantly 
away;  the  eye  that  lacked  the  power  of  accommo- 
dation was  fixed  on  him,  and  it  made  him  nervous. 

"Do  you  remember  me,  Mr.  Carman?"  asked 
Marley ;  and  then  fearing  the  reply  he  hastened  to 
add :  "I'm  Glenn  Marley ;  Mr.  Powell  introduced 
me  to  you  out  at  the  fair-grounds  last  falL" 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Carman. 

"I  suppose  you  know  what  I  came  for?" 

Carman's  right  eye  widened  somewhat  in  an  ex- 
pression of  mild  surprise. 

"You  know,"  urged  Marley,  "the  clerkship." 

"What  clerkship  was  that?" 

"Why,  don't  you  know  ?  The  chief  clerkship,  I 
reckon." 

"Here?" 

"Why,  yes.     Don't  you  remember?" 

Carman's  right  eye  wore  a  puzzled  look. 

"Don't  you  remember?" 

"Well,  you've  got  me,"  said  Carman,  with  a 
little  laugh  of  apology. 

203 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

"Why,  I  understood,"  Marley  went  on,  '^that 
in  the  event  of  jour  election  I  was  to  have  a  posi- 
tion here." 

"What  as?" 

"Why — as  chief  deputy." 

That  right  eye  of  Carman's  was  fixed  on  him 
questioningly. 

"Chief  deputy?"  he  said  finally.  "Here^— in 
my  office?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Marley.  "Don't  you  remem- 
ber?" 

The  question  in  the  right  eye  had  given  way  to  a 
surprise  that  was  growing  in  Carman's  mind,  and 
spreading  contagiously  to  a  surprise,  deeper  and 
more  acute,  in  Marley's  mind.  The  eye  had 
something  reproachful  in  its  steady  stare.  Mar- 
ley  leaned  over  impulsively. 

"Why,  surely  you  haven't  forgotten — that  day 
out  at  the  fair-grounds,  when  Mr.  Powell  intro- 
duced me  to  you  ?  I  understood,  I  always  under- 
stood that  I  was  to  have  the  place.  I  never  men- 
tioned it  to  you  afterward,  I  didn't  like  to  bother 
you,  you  know.  I  waited  along,  feeling  that  every- 
thing was  all  right    But  when  election  was  over— 

^04 


WAKING 

and  afterward,  when  you  took  your  office,  and  I 
didn't  hear  anything— I  thought  I'd  come  around 
and  see  you." 

Despite  the  sinister  left  eye,  Marley  leaned 
close  to  Carman  and  waited.  Carman  was  long  in 
bringing  himself  to  speak.  Even  then  he  did  not 
seem  to  be  sure  of  the  situation  he  was  dealing 
with. 

"You  say  you  understood  you  was  to  have  a  job 
under  me  as  chief  clerk  ?" 

"Why,  yes,"  replied  Marley. 

"Who'd  you  understand  it  from,  me  or  Wade 
Powell?" 

"Well—"  Marley  hesitated,  "I  thought  I  un* 
derstood  it  from  you;  I  certainly  understood  it 
from  Mr.  Powell." 

"You  say  you  got  the  idea  from  something  I 
said  out  at  the  fair-grounds?" 

"Yes,  sir,  at  the  fair-grounds." 

Carman  turned  away  and  knitted  his  brows. 

"At  the  fair-grounds,"  he  said  presently,  as 
though  talking  more  to  himself  than  to  Marley. 
"The  fair-grounds,  h-m.    Yes,  I  do  remembe] 

Marley's  heart  stirred  with  a  little  hope. 

205 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

"I  do  remember  seeing  you  there,  and  talking 
to  you.  But  I  don't  remember  making  you  any 
promises.    Did  you  ask  me?" 

"JSTo;  Mr.  Powell  did  tbat." 

"And  what  did  I  say  r 

"Well/'  Marley  answered,  "I  can't  recall  your 
exact  words,  but  I  got  tbe  impression,  and  so  did 
Mr.  Powell,  I'm  sure,  tbat  it  was  all  right,  I — I 
counted  on  it." 

"Well,  say,  Glenn,"  he  said ;  "Pm  awfully  sorry, 
honest  I  am.  I  remember  now,  com©  to  think  of 
it,  that  Wade  did  say  something  like  that,  and 
maybe  I  said  something  to  lead  you  to  think  I'd  do 
it;  I  don't  say  I  didn't — I  don't  just  remember. 
But  I  reckon  you've  banked  more  on  what  W^ade 
told  you  than  on  what  I  did.  Course,  I  reckon 
I  didn't  turn  you  down — a  feller  never  does  that 
in  a  campaign,  you  know.  But  Wad©  takes  a  lot 
o'  things  for  granted  in  this  life." 

He  smiled  indulgently,  as  if  Powell's  weaknesses 
were  commonly  known  and  understood. 

"I  reckon  you  relied  too  much  on  what  Wade 
told  you,"  Carman  went  on.  His  right  eye  was  fixed 
on  Marley,  but  Marley  did  not  return  the  look. 

206 


WAKING 

He  had  turned  half-way  round  and  thrown  his 
arm  over  the  back  of  hisi  chair.  He  looked  out 
the  window,  his  eyes  vacant  and  sad.  He  was 
thinking  of  Lavinia,  of  their  hopes  and  plans,  of 
the  little  home  that  had  become  almost  a  reality  to 
them;  the  trees  in  the  Court-House  yard  held 
their  gaunt  limbs  helplessly  up  against  the  cold 
December  day;  the  ugly  clouds  were  hurrying 
desperately  across  the  sky ;  he  thought  of  the  little 
law  office  across  the  street,  with  the  dusty  law- 
books lying  on  the  table,  and  the  hopelessness  of  it 
all  overwhelmed  him.  But  there  beside  him  Car- 
man still  was  speaking: 

"It's  like  Wade,"  he  was  saying.  "Fm  sorry, 
demed  if  I  hain't" 

Marley  scarcely  heard  him.  He  was  looking 
ahead.    How  many  years — 

"He  hadn't  ought  to  of  done  it,"  Carman  was 
going  on;  "no,  sir,  he  hadn't  ought" 

How  many  years,  Marley  was  thinking,  would 
they  have  to  wait  now?  Would  Lavinia  be  lost 
with  all  the  rest  ?  Ought  he  to  ask  her  to  wait  any 
longer  ?    But  Carman  kept  on : 


207 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 
IVe  got  all  my  arrangemente  made  now,  you 


He  swept  his  arm  about  the  office  where  the  few 
clerks  were  bending  over  the  big  records  in  which 
they  were  copying  the  pleadings  they  could  not 
understand.  Marley  did  not  see;  he  saw  nothing 
but  the  ruin  of  all  his  hopes.  It  was  still  in  there ; 
the  atmosphere  held  the  musty  odor  of  a  public  of- 
fice; the  clock  ticked;  once  a  stamping  machine 
clicked  sharply  as  a  clerk  marked  a  filing  date  on 
some  document.  And  then  a  great  disgust  over- 
whelmed him,  a  disgust  with  himself  for  being  so 
fatuous,  so  credulous.  He  had  taken  so  much  for 
granted,  he  had  acted  as  a  child,  not  as  a  man, 
and  he  felt  a  hatred  for  himself,  he  felt  almo&t 
like  striking  himself. 

"I  guess  IVe  been  a  fool,"  he  said  suddenly, 
rising  from  his  chair. 

"!Isro,  you  haven't  neither,"  said  Carman,  'Tbut 
Wade  Powell  has ;  he  had  no  business — " 

Marley  did  not  wait  to  hear  Carman  finish  his 
sentence.  Shame  and  mortification  were  the  final 
aspects  of  his  defeat;  he  put  on  his  hat,  drew  it 
down  over  his  eyes  and  stalked  away.     Carman 

208 


WAKING 

looked  at  him  as  he  disappeared  through  the  lofty 
door.  The  pupil  of  his  right  eye  widened  as  he 
looked,  and  when  Glenn  had  passed  from  his 
sight  he  turned  to  his  desk,  and  began  to  rearrange 
the  tools  to  which  he  was  so  unaccustomed. 


209 


CHAPTER  XX 


HEART  OF  GRACE 


Marley  sighed  in  relief  wlien  he  went  up' 
the  steps  of  the  Blair  house  that  evening. 
Somehow  he  had  got  through  the  long,  desolate 
day.  He  was  sore  from  his  great  defeat,  but  the 
worst,  at  any  rate,  was  over;  the  pang  had  been 
sharp,  but  now  the  pain  had  been  dulled.  He 
had  spent  the  day  in  the  office.  Wade  Powell  had 
been  in  and  out,  but  never  once  had  he  spoken  of 
the  clerkship,  and  Marley  was  too  deep  in  humilia- 
tion to  mention  it.  His  one  consolation  was  in 
the  fact  that  he  had  never  told  any  one  of  his  pros- 
pect, not  even  his  own  mother ;  it  had  been  a  secret 
which  he  and  Lavinia  had  shared  luxuriously; 
though,  as  Marley  now  looked  back  on  their  joy, 
he  realized  that  what  had  kept  him  from  telling 
any  one  was  a  prudent  skepticism,  a  lack  of  faith 

210 


HEAET  OF  GKACE. 

in  the  possibility  of  human  happiness,  an  inherited 
dread  of  the  calamity  that  stalks  every  joy. 

Lavinia  flung  the  hall  door  wide  for  him  before 
he  could  ring  the  bell. 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

''How  did  you  know  anything  was  ?"  he  asked. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  could  tell  the  minute 
I  heard  your  step.     Tell  me — what  is  it?" 

Marley,  ever  sensitive  to  atmospheres,  instantly 
felt  the  peace  of  the  household.  The  glow  from  the 
living-room,  a  quiet  voice  speaking  a  commonplace 
word  now  and  then,  told  him  that  Mrs.  Blair  was 
there  with  Connie  and  Chad,  and  he  knew  the  chil- 
dren were  at  their  lessons;  he  caught  the  faint 
odor  of  a  cigar,  and  he  knew  that  Judge  Blair 
was  in  his  library  reading  peacefully  of  the  dead 
and  silent  past,  whose  men  had  left  all  their  trou- 
bles in  the  leaves  of  printed  books ;  all  round  him 
life  was  flowing  on,  unconsciously,  and  normally; 
the  tumult  and  strife  in  his  own  soul  were  nothing 
to  the  world.  All  this  flashed  on  him  in  an  in- 
stant— and  there  was  Lavinia,  standing  before  him, 
her  white  brow  knit  in  perplexity. 

"Tell  me,"  she  was  saying,  "what  it  is." 

211 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

"Well,  I  don't  get  tlie  job,  that's  alL'' 

lie  felt  a  momentary  savage  pleasure  in  the  pain 
he  inflicted,  justifying  it  in  tlie  thought  that  he 
eased  his  own  suffering  by  giving  it  to  another. 
Then  as  quickly  he  repented,  and  felt  ashamed. 

^^Is  that  all  ?"  she  said.  She  had  come  close  to 
him,  smiling  in  her  sympathy,  and  then  lifting  a 
hand  to  his  forehead. 

"Don't  do  that,"  she  said,  as  if  she  would  erase 
the  scowl. 

AVhen  they  were  seated  he  gave  her  the  details  of 
his  meeting  with  Carman,  and  with  the  recital  of 
his  disappointment  its  sharpness  was  repeated.  He 
leaned  over,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  clutched 
his  hair  in  his  fists.  Eor  an  instant  a  kind  of  re- 
lief came  to  Lavinia^  a  relief  that  a  crisis  in  her 
life  had  been  postponed,  a  crisis  from  which,  in- 
stinctively, she  had  shrunk.  Her  life  could  go 
on  for  a  while  as  it  had  always  gone  on;  change, 
which  mortals  dread,  was  delayed.  Then  in 
another  moment  her  sympathy  went  out  to  him ;  she 
w^as  on  the  floor  at  his  knees,  her  arms  about  him. 

"Don't,  dear,  don't,"  she  pleaded.     "Why,  it  is 


212 


HEART  OF  GRACE 

nothing.  What  does  it  matter?  What  does  any- 
tliing  matter,  so  long  as  we  have  each  other  ?" 

She  stroked  his  hair,  she  called  him  by  all  her 
endearing  names.  She  tried  to  take  his  hands  from 
his  face,  that  she  might  get  him  to  look  at  her. 
But  he  resisted. 

''JTo,"  he  said.  "Fm  no  good;  Fm  a  failure; 
I'm  worse  than  a  failure.  Fm  a  fool,  a  poor, 
weak,  silly  fool." 

"Hush,  Glenn,  hush!"  she  whispered,  as  if  he 
were  uttering  blasphemies.  "You  must  not,  you 
must  not!" 

She  shook  him  in  a  kind  of  fear. 

"Look  at  me !"  she  said.    "Look  at  me !" 

He  remained  obdurate,  slowly  shaking  his  head 
from  side  to  side. 

"Look  at  me!"  Lavinia  repeated.  "Don't  you 
see — don't  you  see  that — I  love  you  ?" 

A  change  came  over  him,  subtile,  but  distinct 
Slowly  he  raised  his  head,  and  then  he  put  his 
arms  about  her  and  held  her  close,  and  gradually 
a  comfort  stole  over  him, — a  comfort  so  delicious 
that  he  felt  himself  hardly  worthy,  because  he  now 
saw  that  all  through  the  day  he  had  had  a  subcon- 

213 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

sciousness  tliat  it  would  come  to  him  at  evening, 
and  that  he  had  somehow  exaggerated  his  own  grief 
in  order  to  make  this  certain  comfort  the  sweeter 
when  it  came. 

It  seemed  to  Marley,  after  he  and  Lavinia  had 
sat  there  for  a  while,  that  he  had  come  out  of  some 
nightmare;  sanity  returned,  things  assumed  once 
more  their  proper  proportions  and  relations  to  each 
other.  He  found  himself  smiling,  if  not  laughing 
just  yet,  and  with  Lavinia's  hope  and  confidence 
the  future  opened  to  him  once  more.  'Now  and 
then,  of  course,  his  disappointment  would  roll 
over  him  as  a  great  wave,  and  once  he  said  rue- 
fully: 

"But  think  of  the  little  home  we  were  going  to 
have!" 

"But  we're  going  to  have  it,"  Lavinia  replied, 
smiling  on  him,  "we're  going  to  have  it,  just  the 
same !" 

"But  we'll  have  to  wait !" 

"Well,  we're  young,"  said  Lavinia,  "and  it 
won't  be  so  very  long." 

"But  I  wanted  it  to  be  in  the  spring." 

"May  be  it  will  be,  who  knows  ?"  Lavinia  could 

214: 


HEAET  OF  GRACE 

smile  in  this  reassurance,  now  that  she  knew  it 
could  not  be  in  the  spring. 

They  discussed  their  future  in  all  its  phases, 
with  the  hope  that  Lavinia  could  so  easily  inspire 
in  him;  Marley  was  to  keep  on  with  his  law 
studies;  there  was  nothing  else  now  to  do — ^unless 
something  should  turn  up — there  was  always  that 
hope. 

"And  it  will,  you'll  see,"  said  Lavinia. 

They  discussed,  too,  Carman  and  Wade  Powell. 
Marley  thought  that  Lavinia  might  return  to  her 
old  severity  with  Powell ;  when  he  expected  her  to 
do  this,  he  was  preparing  to  defend  Powell ;  when 
she  did  not,  but  was  generous  with  him,  and  urged 
Marley  to  reflect  that  he  had  done  all  he  had  done 
out  of  a  spirit  of  kindness,  Marley  was  disposed  to 
be  severe  with  Powell  himself.  Carman,  they 
agreed,  had  acted  handsomely ;  they  could  not  find 
cause  to  blame  him. 

"No,"  said  Marley,  "he  treated  me  all  right;  I 
believe  he  was  really  sorry  for  me." 

And  then,  at  the  thought  of  Carman's  having 
pity  for  him,  his  rebellion  flamed  up  again. 

"It's  humiliating,   thatfs  what  it  is.      Wade 

215 


THE  HAPPY;  AVEEAGE 

Powell  had  no  business  making  a  monkey  of  me  in 
tliat  way;  though  it  doesn't  take  much  to  make  a 
monkey  of  me;  I  had  the  job  almost  completed 
myself,  just  waiting  for  some  one  to  come  along 
and  put  the  finishing  touches  on.  And  Wade 
Powell  did  that!" 

Marley  spoke  in  the  sardonic  humor  the  wounded 
and  beaten  spirit  likes  to  employ  in  dealing  with 
itself.     But  Lavinia  hushed  him. 

"You  just  can  not  talk  that  way  about  yourself, 
.Glenn,"  she  declared  with  her  finest  air  of  owner- 
ship.   "I  won't  let  you." 

"Well,  it's  so  humiliating,"  he  said. 

"Why,  no,  it  can't  be  that,"  Lavinia  argued. 
"You  can  not  feel  humiliated.  You  have  done 
nothing  that  need  cause  you  any  humiliation.  We 
are  the  only  ones  who  can  humiliate  ourselves; 
nothing  but  our  own  actions  can  humiliate  us ;  no 
one  else  can." 

Lavinia  had  a  smiling  little  triumph  in  her  own 
philosophy,  but  she  quickly  compromised  it  by  an 
inconsistency. 

"Besides,  no  one  else  knows  about  it." 

"No,"  Marley  agreed  thoughtfully,  and  without 

216 


HEART   OF  GEACE 

noticing  her  inconsistency.  "ITo  one  else  know3 
anything  about  it.  We  have  that  to  be  thankful 
for,  anyway." 


21t 


CHAPTER  XXI 


CHRISTMAS    EVE 


Lawrence  was  arranging  for  a  grand  ball  in 
the  Odd  Eellows'  Hall,  on  Christmas  Eve,  and 
he  had,  as  he  came  around  to  the  office  one 
day  to  assure  Marley,  counted  him  and  Lavinia 
in.  Marley,  glad  enough  to  close  the  law-book  he 
was  finding  more  and  more  irksome,  listened  to 
Lawrence's  enthusiasm  for  a  while,  but  said  at 
last: 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  go." 

"Why  not  ?  Lavinia  will  want  to  go ;  she  always 
does." 

"I  know  that,"  Marley  admitted,  "but  I  can't, 
that's  all." 

Lawrence  looked  at  him  intently  for  a  moment. 

"Say,  Glenn,  what's  the  matter  with  you?"  he 
said.  "Anything  been  going  wrong  lately  ^  You 
look  like  you  were  in  the  dumps." 

218 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

Marley  shook  his  head  with  a  negative  gesture 
that  admitted  all  Lawrence  had  said. 

"You  ain't  fretting  over  that  job,  are  you?" 

"What  job  r 

Marley  looked  up  suddenly. 

"Why,  with  Carman." 

"How'd  you  know?" 

"Oh,  everybody  knows  about  that,"  Lawrence 
replied  with  a  light  air  that  added  to  Marley's 
gloom;  "but  what  of  it?  I  wouldn't  let  that  cut 
me  up ;  come  out  and  show  yourself  a  little  more  I 
You  don't  want  to  keep  Lavinia  housed  up  there, 
away  from  all  the  fun  that's  going  on,  do  you? 
Mayme  and  I  were  talking  about  it  the  other 
night ;  you  and  Lavinia  haven't  been  to  a  thing  for 
months ;  it  isn't  right,  I  tell  you." 

Marley  looked  sharply  at  Lawrence  for  a  min- 
ute, and  Lawrence  marking  the  resentment  in  his 
eyes,  hastened  on: 

"Don't  get  mad,  now;  I  don't  mean  anything. 
I'm  only  saying  it  for  your  good.  I  think  you 
need  a  little  shaking  up,  that's  all." 

"Lavinia  can  do  as  she  likes,"  Marley  said  with 
dignity.     "I  shall  not  hinder  her;  I  never  have." 

2ia 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE. 

"Well,  don't  get  sore  now,  old  man;  I  didn't 
mean  to  liurt  jour  feelings.  The  holidays  are  here 
and  you  want  to  cut  into  the  game;  it's  a  time  to 
forget  your  troubles  and  have  a  little  fun ;  you've 
only  got  one  life  to  live;  what's  the  use  of  taking 
it  so  seriously?" 

Marley  looked  at  Lawrence  with  a  genuine  envy 
for  an  instant,  as  at  a  man  who  never  took  any- 
thing in  life  very  seriously;  he  looked  at  the  new 
overcoat  Lawrence  held  over  his  knee,  showing  its 
satin  lining;  and  then,  reflecting  that  Lawrence's 
father  had  left  with  his  estate  a  block  of  bank 
stock  which  had  given  Lawrence  his  position  in 
the  bank,  Marley's 'impatience  with  him  returned 
and  he  said: 

"Oh,  it's  easy  enough  for  you  to  talk ;  if  you  were 
in  my  place  you  might  find  it  different." 

"That's  all  right,"  Lawrence  went  on,  a  smile  on 
his  freckled  face.  "You  just  come  to  the  party; 
it'll  cost  you  only  five,  and  Lavinia  would  like  it 
I  know  that.    So  do  you." 

Marley  did  know  it;  and  he  felt  a  new  disgust 
with  himself  that  remained  with  him  long  ait&r 
Lawrence  had  put  on  his  new  overcoat  and  left.   He 

220. 


CHKISTMAS  EVE 

reproached  himself  bitterly,  and  he  told  himself 
that  the  best  thing  he  could  do  would  be  to  go 
away  somewhere,  and  not  tell  Lavinia,  or  anybody. 

"I'm  only  in  her  way,  that's  all,"  he  thought 
as  he  opened  his  law-book,  and  bent  it  back  vi- 
ciously, so  that  it  would  stay  open. 

Ever  since  the  fiasco  of  his  plans  as  to  a  place 
with  Carman,  he  had  been  seeking  consolation  in 
a  new  resolution  to  keep  on  patiently  in  the  law; 
but  it  was  a  consolation  that  he  had  to  keep  active 
by  a  constant  contemplation  of  himself  as  a  young 
man  who  was  making  a  brave  and  determined  fight 
against  heavy  odds.  It  was  difficult  to  sustain  this 
heroic  attitude  in  his  own  eyes  and  at  the  same  time 
maintain  that  modesty  which  he  knew  would  be- 
come him  best  in  the  eyes  of  others.  The  approach 
of  the  holiday  season,  the  visible  preparations  on 
every  hand  and  the  gay  spirits  everywhere  apparent 
had  isolated  him  more  than  ever,  and  he  had  felt 
his  alienation  complete  whenever  he  went  to  see 
Lavinia  and  found  the  whole  Blair  family  in  an 
excitement  over  their  own  festival.  Marley  would 
have  liked  to  make  Lavinia  handsome  gifts,  but 
his  debts  were  already  large,  relatively,  and  he 

321 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

rose  to  lieiglits  of  self-denial  that  made  him  pa- 
thetic to  himself,  when  he  decided  that  he  could 
give  her  nothing.  ISTow  that  Lawrence  was  getting 
up  a  hall  to  which  he  knew  Lavinia  would  like  to 
go,  as  she  had  always  gone  to  the  halls  that  were 
not  so  frequent  in  Macochee  as  Lawrence  wished 
they  might  he,  he  felt  his  humiliation  deeper 
than  ever.  He  put  the  matter  honestly  to  Lavinia, 
however,  and  she  said  promptly: 

"Why,  I  wouldn't  think  of  going." 

She  looked  up  at  him  brightly,  and  then  in  an 
instant  she  looked  down  again.  She  relished  the 
nobility  of  the  attitude  she  had  so  promptly  taken, 
hut  the  woman  in  her  prevailed  over  the  saint,  and 
told  what  a  moment  before  she  had  determined  not 
to  tell: 

"IVe  already  declined  one  invitation." 

She  saw  the  look  of  pain  come  into  Marley's  eyes, 
and  instantly  she  regretted. 

"You  have?"  he  said. 

"Why,  yes."  She  looked  at  him  with  her  head 
turned  to  one  side;  her  face  wore  an  expreesioii 
he  did  not  like  to  see. 

It  was  on  Marley's  lips  to  ask  who  had  invited 

22^ 


CHRISTMAS  EVE 

her,  but  his  pride  would  not  let  him  do  that ;  some- 
how a  sense  of  separation  fell  suddenly  between 
them.  He  examined  with  deep  interest  the  arm 
of  his  chair. 

"Well,"  he  began  presently,  "I  wouldn't  have 
you  stay  away  on  my  account,  you  know."  He 
looked  up  suddenly.  "Please  don't  stay  away,  La- 
vinia.    I'd  like  to  have  you  go." 

There  was  contrition  in  her  voice  as  she  almost 
flew  to  reply: 

"Why,  you  dear  old  thing,  it  was  only  George 
Halliday  who  asked  me;  and  when  I  told  him  I 
wouldn't  go  he  was  actually  relieved;  he  said  he 
didn't  want  to  go  himself;  he  hates  our  little 
functions  out  here,  you  know,  and  has  ever  since 
he  came  back  from  Harvard.  I  suppose  he  was 
used  to  so  much  more  in  Cambridge !"  Lavinia  had 
a  sneer  in  her  tone,  and  it  took  on  a  shade  of  irri- 
tation as  she  added:  "He  asked  me  only  because 
he  was  sorry  for  me." 

"Yes,  sorry  for  you,"  Marley  repeated  bitterly. 
"That's  another  thing  I've  done  for  you." 

"Please  don't,  dear,"  said  Lavinia,  "don't  let 
yourself  get  bitter.    It'll  be  all  right    We'll  spend 

223 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

Christmas  Eve  here  at  home  and  have  ever  so  much 
more  fun  by  ourselves." 

Mrs.  Blair  told  Marley  that  she  wished  Lavinia 
might  go  to  the  ball;  her  father  wished  it,  too. 
Mrs.  Blair  told  him  that  she  could  easily  get 
George  Halliday  to  take  her, — their  lifelong  inti- 
nuacy  with  the  Hallidays  permitted  that  Marley 
assured  her  that  he  wished  Lavinia  to  accept  Hal- 
liday's  invitation,  but  that  she  would  not  do  so. 

*'I'd  take  her  myseK,"  he  added,  "only  I  canH 
dance,  and — I  have  no  money.  I'd  like  to  have 
her  go,  if  it  would  give  her  pleasure. 

"I  know  you  would,  you  dear  boy,"  said  Mrs. 
Blair,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  in  her  af- 
fectionate way. 

Mrs.  Blair  urged  Lavinia  to  go,  and  so  did  Mar- 
ley, and  when  he  saw  that  she  was  determined  not 
to  go,  he  urged  her  all  the  more  strongly,  because, 
now  that  he  was  sure  of  her  position,  he  could  so 
much  more  enjoy  his  own  disinterestedness  and 
magnanimity.  They  desisted  when  Lavinia  com- 
plained that  they  were  making  her  life  miserable. 

Though  Marley  could  deny  Lavinia  the  dance, 
he  found,  after  all,  that  he  could  not  deny  himself 

2U 


CHRISTMAS  EVE 

the  distinction  of  giving  her  a  Christmas  present 
His  heroic  attitude  gradually  broke  under  the  temp- 
tation of  Hoffman's  jewelry  store,  glittering  with 
its  holiday  display.  Marley  already  owed  Hoffman 
for  Lavinia's  ring,  but  like  most  of  the  merchants 
in  Macochee,  Hoffman  had  to  do  business  on  an 
elastic  credit,  if  he  wished  to  do  any  business  at  all, 
and  Marley,  after  many  pains  of  selection,  did  not 
have  much  difficulty  in  inducing  Hoffman  to  let 
him  have  the  pearl  opera-glasses  he  finally  chose  in 
the  despair  of  thinking  of  anything  better. 

The  opera-glasses  might  have  atoned  for  the 
deprivation  of  the  ball,  had  Marley  been  able  to 
think  of  them  with  any  comfort.  The  delight  La- 
vinia  expressed  in  a  gift  ste  could  never  use  in 
Macochee,  and  the  enthusiasm  with  which  Con- 
nie admired  them,  made  him  nervous  and  guilty. 
Connie  had  temporarily  foregone  her  claims  to 
yoimg-ladyhood,  and  was  a  child  again  for  a  little 
while.  Her  excitement  and  that  of  Chad  should 
have  made  any  Christmas  Eve  merry,  but  it  was  not 
a  merry  Christmas  Eve  for  Marley. 

As  Lavinia  and  he  sat  in  the  parlor  they  caught 
now  and  then,  or  imagined  they  caught,  the  strains 

225 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

of  the  orcliestra  tliat  was  playing  for  the  dancers  in 
the  Odd  Eellows'  Hall,  and  they  were  both  con- 
scious that  life  would  be  tolerable  for  them  only 
when  the  music  should  cease  and  the  ball  take  its 
place  among  the  things  of  the  past,  incapable  of 
further  trouble  in  the  earth. 

''It's  very  trying,"  said  Judge  Blair  to  his  wife 
that  night.  "I  wish  there  was  something  we  could 
do." 

''So  do  I,"  his  wife  acquiesced. 

"I  don't  like  to  see  Lavinia  cut  off  this  way  from 
every  enjoyment.  The  strain  jnust  be  very  wear- 
ing." 

"I  suppose  it  is  very  wearing  with  most  lovers," 
said  Mrs.  Blair.  "I  don't  see  how  they  ever  en- 
dure it ;  but  they  all  do." 

"Have  you  talked  with  her  about  it  ?"  The  judge 
put  his  question  with  a  guarded  look,  and  was  not 
surprised  when  his  wife  quickly  replied: 

"Gracious,  no.     I'd  never  dare." 

"ISTo,  I  presume  not.  I  don't  know  who  would, 
unless  it  might  be  Connie." 

Mrs.  Blair  was  silent  for  a  while  in  the  trouble 


226: 


CHKISTMAS  EVE 

that  was  all  the  more  serious  because  they  dared  not 
recognize  its  seriousness,  and  then  she  asked: 

"Couldn't  you  help  him  to  something?" 

"I  don't  know  what/'  the  judge  replied. 
"There's  really  no  opening  in  a  little  town." 

"If  you  were  off  the  bench  and  back  in  the  prao- 
tice— " 

"Great  heavens!"  he  interrupted  her.  "Don't 
mention  such  a  thing !" 

"I  meant  that  you  might  take  him  in  with  you." 

^'I'd  be  looking  around  for  some  one  to  take  me 
in,"  the  judge  said.  "I'm  glad  I  haven't  the  prob- 
lem to  face."  He  enjoyed  for  a  moment  the  snug 
sense  he  had  in  his  own  position  and  then  he 
sighed. 

"He's  young,  he  has  that,  anyway.  He'll  work  it 
out  somehow,  I  suppose,  though  I  don't  know  how. 
As  for  us,  all  we  can  do  is  to  have  patience,  and 
wait." 

"Yes,  that's  all,"  said  Mrs.  Blair.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve in  long  engagements." 

"How  long  has  it  been  ?"  he  asked. 

"ITearly  a  year  now." 

"I  thought  it  had  been  ten." 

227 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

Mrs.  Blair  laughed  as  she  said:  "Connie  was 
wishing  this  morning  that  he'd  many  her  and  get 
it  over  with." 


228 


CHAPTEE  XXII 

AN   ADVEKTISEMENT    OF  DESTINY 

The  first  days  of  spring  contrasted  strongly 
with  Marley's  mood.  Because  of  some  myste- 
rious similarity  in  the  two  seasons  lie  found 
the  melancholy  suggestion  of  fall  in  this  spring, 
just  as,  with  his  high-flown  hopes,  he  had 
found  some  of  the  joyous  suggestion  of  spring  in 
the  autumn  before.  But  as  failure  followed  failure, 
he  began  to  feel  more  and  more  an  alien  in  Maco- 
chee ;  he  had  a  sense  of  exile  among  his  own  kind, 
he  was  tortured  by  the  thought  that  here,  in  a 
world  where  each  man  had  some  work  to  do  and 
where,  as  it  seemed,  all  men  had  suddenly  grown 
happy  in  that  work,  there  was  no  work  for  him  to 
da 

He  was  young,  healthy,  and  ambitious;  he  had 
given  years  to  what  he  had  been  taught  was  a 

029. 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

necessary  preparation,  and  then  suddenly,  just  as 
he  felt  himself  ready  for  life,  he  found  that 
there  was  no  place  in  life  for  him.  As  he  went 
about  seeking  employment  there  was  borne  in  on 
him  a  sense  of  criticism  and  opposition,  and  he  was 
depressed  and  humiliated.  By  the  end  of  the  winter 
he  disliked  showing  himself  anywhere ;  he  no  longer 
stopped  in  the  McBriar  House  of  an  afternoon  to 
watch  Lawrence  and  Halliday  at  the  billiards  they 
played  so  well ;  he  thought  he  detected  a  coolness  in 
Lawrence's  treatment  of  him.  He  felt,  or  im- 
agined, this  coolness  in  everybody's  attitude  now, 
and  finally  began  to  suspect  it  in  the  Blairs. 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  asked  Powell,  one  morn- 
ing.   "You  ain't  sick,  are  you  ?" 

Marley  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  something  ails  you.  I  can  see  that."  He 
waited  for  Marley  to  speak.  "Is  there  anything  I 
can  do  for  you  ?" 

"^o,"  said  Marley,  "thank  you.  I've  just  been 
feeling  a  little  bit  blue,  that's  all." 

"What  about?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.    I'm  kind  o'  discouraged.    It 


230 


AN  ADVERTISEMENT  OF  DESTINY 

seems  to  me  that  I'm  wasting  time ;  I'm  not  making 
any  headway  and  then  everybody  in  town  is — ^" 

"I  wouldn't  mind  that,"  said  Powell,  divining 
the  trouble  at  once.  "They've  had  me  on  the  grid- 
iron for  about  forty  years,  and  they  never  get  tired 
of  giving  it  a  twist  It  doesn't  bother  me  much 
any  more,  and  I  don't  see  why  you  should  let  it 
bother  you,  especially  as  all  they  say  about  you  is  a 
damn  lie." 

The  speech  touched  Marley,  and  he  lost  himself 
in  an  impulse  of  sympathy  for  Powell,  but  he 
could  not  put  his  sympathy  before  Powell  in  the 
way  he  would  like  and  his  mind  soon  returned  to 
himself. 

"I've  got  to  do  something,"  he  said.  '1  wish  I 
knew  what." 

"Well,"  said  Powell,  "you  know  what  I've  al- 
ways told  you.  I  know  what  I'd  do  if  I  were  your 
age.    Of  course — " 

Powell  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  He  was  look- 
ing out  the  window  again,  lost  in  introspection. 

Powell's  reiteration  of  his  old  advice  expressed 
the  very  thought  that  had  been  nebulous  in  Mai>- 
ley's  mind  for  days,  and  while  he  was  conscious  of 

231 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

it,  he  feared  the  consciousness,  and  struggled  to 
prevent  it  from  positing  itself.  But  now  that 
Powell  had  voiced  it  for  him,  he  could  escape  it  no 
longer,  and  it  filled  him  with  a  fear.  He  went 
about  all  the  day  with  this  fear  appalling  him; 
more  and  more  under  its  perverse  influence  he  felt 
himself  an  alien,  and  the  people  he  met  in  the  street 
seemed  unreal  and  strange,  outlandish  persons 
whom  he  had  never  known.  They  came  upon  him  as 
ghosts,  or  if  they  did  something  to  prove  their  re- 
ality, he  seemed  to  be  some  ghost  himself. 

In  the  afternoon  he  received  a  note  from  La- 
vinia ;  she  said  that  she  was  going  that  evening  with 
George  Halliday  to  a  concert  in  the  Opera  House. 
She  did  not  want  to  go  a  bit,  she  said,  but  her 
mother,  and  especially  her  father,  had  urged  her  to 
go ;  arguing  that  she  now  went  out  so  seldom  that  it 
must  do  her  good,  and  besides,  they  had  urged  her 
so  often  that  she  felt  it  to  be  her  duty  in  this  in- 
stance; she  had  held  out  as  long  as  she  eould,  and 
then  had  yielded. 

Marley  tried  to  look  upon  the  note  reasonably; 
he  could  see  the  influence  that  had  compelled  La- 
vinia  to  go,  and  he  knew  he  had  no  right  to  blame 


AlSr  ADVEKTISEMEJSTT  OF  DESTINY 

her,  and  yet,  try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  escape  a 
feeling  of  bitterness.  When  he  went  home  at  eve- 
ning his  mother  instantly  noticed  his  depression, 
and  implored  him  for  the  reason.  He  did  not  an- 
swer for  a  while,  that  is,  it  seemed  a  while  to  Mrs. 
Marley,  but  at  last  he  said : 

"Mother,  I've  got  to  leave." 

*'Leave  ?"  she  repeated,  pronouncing  the  word  in 
a  hollow  note  of  fear. 

"Yes,  leave." 

"But  what  for?" 

"Well,  you  know  I'm  no  good;  Fm  making  no 
headway ;  there's  no  place  for  me  here  in  Macochee ; 
I've  got  to  get  out  into  the  world  and  make  a  place 
for  myself,  somewhere." 

"But  where  ?" 

*'I  don't  know — anywhere." 

Marley  moved  his  hand  in  a  wide  gesture  that 
included  the  whole  world,  and  yet  was  without  hope 
of  conquest. 

"But  you  must  have  some  plans — some  idea — ^" 

"Well,  I've  thought  of  going  to  Cincinnati; 
maybe  to  Chicago." 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

"But  what  will  you  do  ?"  Mrs.  Marley  looked  at 
him  with  pain  and  alarm. 

"Do!"  he  said,  his  voice  rising  almost  angrily. 
"Why,  anything  I  can  get  to  do.  Anything,  any- 
thing, sweeping  streets,  digging  ditches,  anything !" 

Mrs.  Marley  looked  at  her  son,  sitting  there  be- 
fore her  with  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands.  In  her 
own  face  were  reflected  the  pain  and  trouble  that 
darkened  his,  and  yet  she  felt  herself  helpless ;  she 
vaguely  realized  that  he  was  engaged  in  a  battle 
that  he  must  after  all  fight  alone;  she  could  not 
help  him,  though  she  wished  that  she  knew  how  to 
impart  to  him  the  faith  she  had  that  he  would 
win  the  battle,  somehow,  in  the  end. 

"Poor  boy!"  she  said  at  length,  rising;  "you  are 
not  yourself  just  now.  Think  it  all  over  and  talk 
to  your  father  about  it." 

It  was  the  first  evening  in  months  that  Marley 
had  not  spent  with  Lavinia,  and  his  existence  being 
now  so  bound  up  with  hers,  he  found  that  he  could 
not  spend  the  evening  as  the  other  young  men  in 
to^vn  spent  their  evenings.  However,  he  went 
down  to  the  McBriar  House  and  there  a  long  bill 
hanging  on  the  wall  instantly  struck  his  eye.     The 

234 


AN  ABVERTISEMEIN^T  OF  DESTIKY 

bill  announced  an  excursion  to  Chicago.  It  took 
away  his  breath;  he  stood  transfixed  before  it, 
fascinated  and  yet  repelled;  he  read  it  through  a 
dozen  times.  The  cheerful  way  in  which  the  rail- 
road held  out  this  trip  intensified  his  own  gloom ;  he 
wondered  how  he  might  escape,  but  there  was  no 
way;  it  was  plainly  the  revelation  of  his  destiny, 
prophetic,  absolute,  final,  and  he  bowed  before  it  as 
to  a  decree  of  fate ;  he  knew  now  that  he  must  go. 
As  he  went  home,  as  he  walked  the  dark  streets 
in  the  air  that  was  full  of  the  balm  of  the  coming 
spring,  he  felt  as  one  to  whom  a  great  sorrow  had 
come.  He  thought  of  leaving  Macochee,  of  leaving 
his  father  and  mother,  and  then,  more  than  all,  of 
leaving  Lavinia,  and  his  throat  ached  with  the 
pain  of  parting  that,  even  now,  before  any  of  hia 
plans  had  been  made,  began  to  assail  him.  His 
plans  were  nothing  now;  they  had  become  the 
merest  details ;  the  great  decision  had  been  reached, 
not  by  him,  but  for  him ;  the  destiny  toward  which 
all  the  lines  of  his  existence  for  months  had  been 
converging,  was  on  him,  the  moment  had  arrived, 
and  he  had  a  sense  of  being  the  mute  and  helpless 
victim  of  forces  that  were  playing  with  him,  hurry- 

235 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

ing  him  along  to  a  future  as  dark  as  the  moonless 
night  above  him. 

He  told  his  father  of  the  excursion,  though  he 
gave  him  no  notion  of  it  as  an  expression  of  hia 
fate,  and  he  was  all  the  more  distressed  at  the  calm 
way  in  which  his  father  acquiesced  in  what  he  put 
before  him  as  a  decision  he  would  have  liked  to 
have  appear  as  less  final.  His  father  in  his  mild- 
ness could  not  object  to  his  trying,  and  he  would 
provide  the  money  for  the  experiment.  It  gave 
Marley  a  moment's  respite  to  have  his  father  speak 
of  it  as  an  experiment,  for  that  included  the  possi- 
bility of  failure,  and  hence  of  his  return  home, 
but  this  meager  consolation  was  immediately  dissi- 
pated in  the  surer  sense  he  felt  that  this  was  the 
end — the  end  of  Macochee,  the  end  of  home,  and 
the  beginning  of  a  new  life. 


236 


CHAPTEE  XXIII 

THE   BEEAK 

Marley  went  to  Lavinia  tlie  next  morning, 
and  told  her  as  tliej  sat  there  on  the  veranda  in 
the  spring  sunlight.  She  looked  at  him  with  dis- 
tress in  her  wide  blue  ejes. 

"When  V  she  asked. 

"To-night!'' 

"To-night?     Oh  Glenn!" 

Her  eyes  had  filled  with  tears,  and  she  was  wink- 
ing hard  to  keep  them  back. 

"To-night." 

She  repeated  the  word  over  and  over  again. 

"And  to  think,"  she  managed  to  say  at  last,  "to 
think  that  the  last  night  I  should  have  been  away 
from  you !    How  can  I  ever  forgive  myself  I" 

Her  lip  trembled,  and  the  tears  rolled  down  her 

237 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

cheeks.     She  drew  out  her  handkerchief  and  said : 

"Lef  s  go  in." 

All  that  day  Marley  went  about  faltering  over  his 
preparations.  Wade  Powell  was  the  only  one  of 
the  few  who  were  interested  in  him  that  was  enthu- 
siastic over  his  going,  and  he  praised  and  congratu- 
lated him,  and  pierced  his  already  sore  heart  by 
declaring  that  he  had  known  all  along  it  w^as  what 
Marley  would  be  compelled  to  do.  He  would  give 
him  a  letter  to  his  old  friend,  Judge  Johnson,  he 
said ;  the  judge  would  be  a  great  man  for  him  to 
know,  and  Powell  sat  down  at  once,  with  more  en- 
ergy and  enterprise  than  Marley  had  ever  known 
him  to  show,  and  began  to  elaborate  his  letter  of  in- 
troduction. 

Marley  dreaded  saying  good-by;  he  wished  to 
shirk  it  as  to  Powell  as  he  intended  to  shirk  it  in 
the  cases  of  his  few  friends ;  he  was  to  return  to  the 
office  a  last  time  in  the  afternoon  to  get  the  letter ; 
and  then  he  would  bid  Powell  good-by.  He  had 
the  day  before  him,  but  that  thought  could  give  him 
no  comfort.  He  would  see  Lavinia  again  in  the 
afternoon ;  he  would  see  her  once  more,  for  the  last 
time,  in  the  evening,  and  in  the  meantime  he  would 

238 


THE  BEEAK 

see  his  father  and  his  mother,  and  his  home ;  he  had 
still  two  meals  to  eat  with  them,  but  it  was  as  if  he 
had  already  gone ;  there  was  no  reality  in  his  pres- 
ence there  among  them ;  the  blow  that  fate  had  de- 
creed had  fallen,  and  all  that  was  to  be  was  then 
actually  in  being;  all  about  him  the  men  and 
women  of  Macochee  were  pursuing  their  ordinary 
occupations  just  as  if  he  were  not  so  soon  to  go 
away  and  be  of  this  scene  no  more ;  a  few  hours,  and 
another  day,  and  they  would  be  going  on  with  their 
concerns  just  the  same,  and  he  would  have  disap- 
peared out  of  their  lives  and  out  of  their  memories. 
He  looked  at  everything  that  had  been  associ- 
ated with  his  life,  and  everything  called  up  some 
memory, — ^the  little  office  where  he  had  tried  to 
study  law,  the  Court  House,  and  the  blind  goddess 
of  justice  holding  aloft  her  scales,  the  familiar 
Square,  the  cloaked  cavalryman  on  the  monument, 
every  tree,  every  fence,  every  brick  in  the  sidewalk 
somehow  called  out  to  him — and  he  was  leaving 
them  all.  He  looked  up  and  down  Main  Street, 
wide  and  ugly,  littered  with  refuse,  ragged  with  its 
graceless  signs ;  he  thought  of  the  people  who  had 
gossiped  about  him,  the  people  whom  he  had  hated, 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

but  now  he  could  not  find  in  his  heart  the  satisfaG 
tion  ho  had  expected  in  leaving  them.  He  felt  ten- 
derly, almost  affectionately,  toward  them  all.  But 
it  was  worse  at  home.  He  wandered  about  the 
house,  looking  at  every  piece  of  furniture,  at  every 
trinlvct ;  he  went  into  the  woodshed,  and  the  old  ax, 
the  old  saw,  everything  he  had  known,  for  years, 
wrung  his  heart ;  he  went  to  the  barn,  he  looked  at 
the  muddy  buggy  in  which  he  had  driven  so  often 
with  his  father ;  he  reproached  himself  because  he 
had  not  kept  the  buggy  cleaner  for  him;  he  went 
into  the  stall  and  patted  the  flank  of  Dolly,  finally 
he  put  his  arms  about  her  warm  neck,  laid  his  face 
against  it,  and  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

One  of  the  preachers  that  were  always  dropping 
in  on  them  was  there  to  dinner,  and  in  the  blessing 
he  invoked  on  the  temporalities,  as  he  called  them, 
he  prayed  with  professional  unction  for  the  son 
who  was  about  to  leave  the  old  roof-tree,  and  this 
made  the  ordeal  harder  for  them  all.  Doctor  Mar- 
ley  spoke  to  the  preacher  of  little  things  that  he 
was  to  do  within  tlie  next  few  days  and  Marley  won- 
dered how  he  could  mention  them,  for  they  were  to 
be  done  at  a  time  w^hen  he  would  be  there  no  more. 

240 


THE  BKEAK 

Because  he  conceived  of  life,  as  all  must  conceive  of 
it,  solely  in  its  relation  to  himself,  he  could  not  im- 
agine life  going  on  in  Macochee  without  him. 

The  afternoon  wore  on,  he  passed  his  hour  with 
Lavinia ;  they  were  to  meet  then  but  once  again ;  he 
returned  home,  his  mother  had  packed  his  trunk; 
it  was  waiting.  He  was  tender  with  his  mother, 
and  he  wondered  now,  with  a  wild  regret,  why  he 
had  not  always  been  tender  with  her ;  he  was  tender 
now  with  all  things ;  a  tenderness  suffused  his  whole 
being ;  it  seemed  as  if  it  might  dissolve  in  tears. 

Still  he  shrank  back ;  there  was  one  thing  more 
to  do ;  he  was  to  go  up-town  and  get  his  ticket,  and 
the  letter  to  Judge  Johnson,  and  bid  Wade  Powell 
good-by.  A  wild  hope  leaped  in  his  heart;  per- 
haps— ^but  no,  it  was  irrevocable  now.  He  went, 
and  got  his  letter,  but  Powell  refused  to  bid  him 
good-by ;  he  said  he  would  be  at  the  train  to  see  him 
off.  He  bought  his  ticket  and  went  home.  Old 
man  Downing  had  been  there  with  his  dray  and 
hauled  away  his  trunk;  it  was  settled.  He  could 
only  wait  and  watch  the  minutes  tick  by. 

It  seemed  to  Marley  that  all  things  that  evening 
conspired  to  accentuate  all  that  he  was  leaving  be- 

241 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

hind,  and  to  make  the  grief  of  parting  more  poign- 
ant His  mother,  who  was  then  in  that  domestic 
exigency  described  by  the  ladies  of  Macochee  as  be- 
ing without  a  girl,  had  prepared  an  unusually 
elaborate  supper,  and  while  there  was  no  formal 
observance  of  the  fact,  it  was  eaten,  so  far  as  any  of 
them  could  eat  that  evening,  under  a  sense  of  its 
significance  as  a  parting  ceremonial.  They  talked, 
or  tried  to  talk,  indifferently  of  commonplace 
things,  and  Doctor  Marley  even  sought  to  add 
merriment  to  their  feast  by  a  jocularity  that  was 
unusual  with  him.  Marley,  who  knew  his  father 
so  well,  could  easily  detect  the  heavy  heart  that  lay 
under  his  father's  jokes,  and  he  suffered  a  keener 
misery  from  the  pathos  of  it.  Then  he  would 
catch  his  mother  looking  at  him,  her  eyes  deep  and 
sad,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  heart  must  burst. 
Marley's  train  was  to  leave  at  eleven  o'clock ;  he 
had  arranged  to  go  to  Lavinia's  and  remain  with 
her  until  ten  o'clock ;  then  he  was  to  stop  in  at  his 
home  for  his  last  good-by.  Those  last  two  hours 
with  Lavinia  were  an  ordeal;  into  the  first  hour 
they  tried  to  crowd  a  thousand  things  they  felt  they 
must  say,  and  a  thousand  things  they  could  only 


THE  BREAK 

suggest ;  when  the  clock  struck  nine,  the j  looked  at 
each  other  in  anguish;  they  did  little  after  that 
but  mentally  count  the  minutes.  The  clock  ticked 
loudly,  aggressively,  until  in  the  soul  of  each,  un- 
confessed,  there  was  a  desire  to  hasten  the  mo- 
ments they  felt  they  would  like  to  stay ;  the  agony 
was  almost  beyond  endurance;  it  exhausted  them, 
beat  them  down,  and  rendered  them  powerless  to 
speak.  Finally  the  clock  struck  the  half -hour ;  they 
oould  only  sit  and  look  at  each  other  now;  at  a 
quarter  of  ten  they  began  their  good-bys. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Blair,  Connie  and  Chad 
came  into  the  room  solemnly,  and  bade  Marley 
farewell ;  the  judge  himself  came  in  after  them,  his 
glasses  in  his  hand  and  the  magazine  he  had  been 
reading,  which,  as  Marley  thought  with  that  pang 
of  things  going  on  without  him,  he  would  in  a  few 
moments  be  reading  again  as  calmly  as  ever. 
He  took  Marley's  hand,  and  wished  him  success; 
for  the  first  time  he  spoke  gently,  almost  affection- 
ately to  him,  and  although  Marley  tried  to  bear 
himself  stoically,  the  judge's  farewell  touched  him 
more  than  all  the  others. 

The  shameless  children  would  have  liked  to  rer 

243 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

main  and  see  the  tragedy  to  its  close,  but  Mrs.  Blair 
drew  them  from  the  room  with  her.  The  last  mo- 
ment had  come,  and  Marlej  held  Lavinia  in  his 
arms ;  at  last  he  tore  himself  from  her,  and  it  was 
over.  He  looked  back  from  out  the  darkness; 
Lavinia  was  still  standing  in  the  doorway;  he  saw 
her  slender,  girlish  figure  outlined  against  the  hall 
light  behind  her;  somehow  he  knew  that  she  was 
bravely  smiling  through  her  tears.  She  stood 
there  until  his  footfall  sounded  loud  in  the  spring 
night,  then  the  light  went  out,  the  door  closed  as  he 
had  heard  it  close  so  often,  and  she  was  gone. 

He  saw  the  light  in  his  father's  study  as  he  ap- 
proached his  home,  and  there  came  again  that  tor- 
turing sense :  the  sermon  his  father  then  was  work- 
ing on  would  be  preached  when  he  was  far  away; 
his  mother,  as  he  knew  by  the  light  in  the  sitting- 
room  window,  was  waiting  for  him ;  she  had  waited 
there  so  many  nights,  and  now  she  was  waiting  for 
the  last  time.  She  rose  at  his  step,  and  took  him  to 
her  arms  the  minute  he  entered  the  door. 

"Be  brave,  dear,"  he  said,  stroking  her  gray 
hair;  "be  brave."  He  was  trying  so  hard  to  be 
brave  himself,  and  she  was  crying.     He  had  not 

244 


THE  BREAK 

often  seen  her  cry.  She  could  not  speak  for  many 
minutes;  she  could  only  pat  him  on  the  shoulder 
where  her  head  lay. 

"Remember,  my  precious  boy,"  she  managed  to 
say  at  last,  "that  there's  a  strong  Arm  to  lean 
upon." 

He  saw  that  she  was  turning  now  to  the  great 
faith  that  had  sustained  her  in  every  trial  of  a  life 
that  had  known  so  many  trials;  and  the  tears 
came  to  his  own  eyes.  He  would  have  left  her  for 
a  moment  but  she  followed  him.  He  had  an  im- 
pulse he  could  not  resist  to  torture  himself  by  going 
over  the  house  again ;  he  went  into  the  dining-room 
which  in  the  darkness  wore  an  air  of  waiting  for 
the  breakfast  they  would  eat  when  he  was  gone ;  he 
went  to  the  kitchen  and  took  a  drink  of  water, 
from  the  old  habit  he  was  now  breaking;  then 
he  went  up  stairs  and  looked  into  his  own  room, 
at  the  neatly  made  bed  where  he  was  to  sleep  no 
more;  at  last  he  stood  at  the  door  of  the  study. 

He  could  catch  the  odor  of  his  father's  cigar,  just 
as  he  had  in  standing  there  so  many  times  before ; 
he  pushed  the  door  open  and  felt  the  familiar  hot, 
close,   smoke-laden  atmosphere  which  his  father 

245 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

seemed  to  find  so  congenial  to  his  studies.  Doctor 
Marlej  took  off  his  spectacles  and  pushed  his  manu- 
script aside,  and  Marley  felt  that  he  never  would 
forget  that  picture  of  the  gray  head  bent  in  its 
earnest  labors  over  that  worn  and  littered  desk ;  it 
was  photographed  for  all  time  on  his  memory.  His 
words  with  his  father  had  always  been  few;  there 
were  no  more  now. 

"Well,  father,"  he  said,  "I've  come  to  say  good- 
by." 

His  father  pushed  back  his  chair  and  turned 
about.  He  half -rose,  then  sank  back  again  and  took 
his  son's  hand. 

"Good-by,  Glenn,"  he  said.    ^^You'U  write  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Write  often.    We'll  want  to  hear." 

"Yes,  write  often,"  the  doctor  said.  "And  take 
care  of  yourself." 

"I  will,  father." 

"Wait  a  moment."  Doctor  Marley  was  fum- 
bling in  his  pocket.    He  drew  forth  a  few  dollars. 

"Here,  Glenn,"  he  said.  "I  wish  it  could  be 
more." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  do,  or  say.     They 

246 


THE  BREAK 

went  down  stairs;  Marley's  bag  was  waiting  for 
him  in  the  hall.  He  kissed  his  mother  again  and 
then  again ;  he  shook  his  father's  hand,  and  then  he 
went 

"Write  often,"  his  father  called  out  to  him,  as 
he  went  down  the  walk.  It  was  all  the  old  man 
could  say. 

The  door  closed,  as  the  door  of  the  Blairs'  had 
closed.  Inside  Doctor  Marley  looked  at  his  wife  a 
moment. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "he's  gone." 

Mrs.  Marlej  made  no  answer. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "I  ought  to  have  gone  to 
the  train  with  him." 

Then  he  toiled  up  the  stairs  to  his  study  and  the 
sermon  he  was  to  preach  when  Glenn  was  gone. 

Marley  walked  rapidly  down  Market  Street  to- 
ward the  depot;  in  the  dark  houses  that  suddenly 
had  taken  on  a  new  significance  to  him,  people  were 
sleeping,  people  who  would  awake  the  next  morn- 
ing in  Macochee.  He  could  not  escape  the  torture 
of  this  thought ;  his  mind  revolved  constantly  about 
the  mystery  of  his  being  still  in  Macochee,  still 
within  calling  distance,  almost,  of  Lavinia,  of  his 

247 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

father  and  motlier,  of  all  he  loved  in  life,  when  in 
reality  they  had  in  an  instant  become  as  inac- 
cessible to  him  as  though  the  long  miles  of  his  ex- 
ile already  separated  them. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  Lavinia,  in  her  room, 
Mrs.  Marley,  at  her  prayers,  and  Doctor  Marley 
sitting  in  deep  absorption  at  his  desk,  heard  the  so- 
norous whistle  of  a  locomotive  sound  ominously 
over  the  dark  and  quiet  town. 


248 


CHAPTEK  XXrVi 

THE   GATES   OF   THE   CITY. 

It  was  a  relief  to  Marley  when  morning  came 
and  released  him  from  the  reclining  chair  that 
had  held  his  form  so  rigidly  all  the  night.  He 
had  not  taken  a  sleeper  because  he  felt  himself  too 
poor,  and  he  had  somewhere  got  the  false  impres- 
sion that  comfort  was  to  be  had  in  the  chair  car. 
He  had  stretched  himself  in  the  cruel  rack  when 
the  porter  came  through  and  turned  the  lights  down 
to  the  dismal  point  of  gloom,  but  he  had  not  slept  j 
all  through  the  night  the  trainmen  constantly 
passed  through  the  car  talking  with  each  other  in 
low  tones;  the  train,  too,  made  long,  inexplicable 
stops;  he  could  hear  the  escape  of  the  weary  en- 
gine, through  his  window  he  could  see  the  lights  of 
some  strange  town;  and  then  the  trainmen  would 
run  by  outside,  swinging  their  lanterns  in  the  dark- 

249 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

ness,  and  calling  to  each  other,  and  Marley  would 
fear  that  something  had  happened,  or  else  was 
about  to  happen,  which  was  worse. 

Einally  the  train  would  creak  on  again,  as  if  it 
were  necessary  to  proceed  slowly  and  cautiously 
through  vague  dangers  of  the  night.  Through  his 
window  he  could  see  the  glint  of  rails,  the  two 
yards  of  gleaming  steel  that  traveled  always  abreast 
of  him.  Toward  morning  Marley  wearily  fell 
asleep,  and  then  the  sorrow  and  heart-ache  of  his 
parting  from  Lavinia  and  his  home  distorted  them- 
selves in  fearful  dreams. 

When  he  awoke  at  last,  and  looked  out  on  the 
ugly  prairie  that  had  nothing  to  break  its  monotony 
but  a  few  scraggly  scrub-oak  bushes,  and  some 
clumps  of  stunted  trees,  the  dawn  was  descending 
from  the  gray  sky.  The  car  presented  a  squalid, 
hideous  sight;  all  about  him  were  stretched  the 
bodies  of  sleeping  passengers,  flaccid,  inert,  hav- 
ing cast  aside  in  utter  weariness  all  sense  of  de- 
cency and  shame;  the  men  had  pulled  off  their 
boots,  and  sprawled  on  the  chairs,  their  stockinged 
feet  prominently  in  view;  women  lay  with  open 


260 


THE  GATES  OE  THE  CITY 

moutlis,  their  faces  begrimed,  their  hair  in  slovenly 
disarray. 

The  baby  that  had  been  crying  in  the  early  part 
of  the  night  had  finally  gone  to  sleep  while  nurs- 
ing, and  its  tired  mother  slept  with  it  at  her 
breast.  The  Jewish  drummer  across  the  aisle  was 
sleeping  in  shirt-sleeves;  his  head  had  rolled 
from  the  little  rest  on  the  back  of  his  chair  and  now 
lolled  off  his  shoulder,  his  sallow  face  turned 
toward  Marley  was  greasy  with  perspiration;  his 
closed  eyes  filled  out  their  blue  hemispherical  lids, 
and  his  cheeks  puffed  with  his  intermittent  snor- 
ing. At  times  his  snoring  grew  so  loud  and  so 
troubled  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  choke;  he 
would  reach  a  torturing  climax,  then  suddenly  the 
thick  red  lips  beneath  his  black  mustache  would 
open,  his  sallow  cheeks  would  collapse,  and  relief 
would  come. 

Marley  wished  the  passengers  would  wake  up 
and  end  the  indecencies  they  had  tried  to  hide 
earlier  in  the  nightw  Glancing  up  and  down  the 
long  car  he  could  recognize  none  of  them  as  hav- 
ing been  there  when  he  had  boarded  the  car  at 
Macochee;  those  who  had  got  on  with  him  had  gone 

251 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

short  distances,  and  then  got  off,  breaking  the  last 
tie  that  bound  him  to  his  home.  He  found  it  im- 
possible now  to  conceive  of  the  car  as  having  been  in 
Macochee  so  short  a  time  before. 

Presently  he  saw  an  old  lady  sitting  up  in  the 
remote  end  of  the  car;  she  was  winding  her  thin 
wisp  of  gray  hair  in  a  little  knob  at  the  back  of  her 
head.  Then,  feeling  that  he  might  bestir  himself, 
Marley  got  up  and  went  forward;  he  washed  his 
face,  and  tried  to  escape  the  discomfort  of  clothes 
he  had  worn  all  the  night  by  readjusting  them. 
The  train  was  evidently  approaching  the  city ;  now 
and  then  he  saw  a  building,  lonely  and  out  of  placet 
on  the  hideous  sand-dunes,  as  if  it  waited  for  the 
city,  in  the  growth  it  boasted,  to  catch  up  with  it 

The  train  ran  on ;  it  had  reached  an  ever-widen- 
ing web  of  tracks;  it  passed  long  lines  of  freight- 
cars,  stock-cars  from  the  west,  empty  gondolas  that 
had  come  with  coal  from  the  Hocking  Valley;  a 
switch  tower  swept  by,  its  bell  jangling  peevishly  in 
alarm;  long  processions  of  working-men  trooped 
with  their  dinner-pails  between  the  tracks.  The 
train  stopped,  finally,  still  far  from  its  destination. 
The  air  in  the  car  was  foul  from  the  feculence  of 

252 


THE  GATES  OE  THE  CITY 

all  those  bodies  that  had  lain  in  it  through  the 
night,  and  Marley  went  out  on  the  platform.  He 
could  hear  the  engine  wheezing — ^the  only  sound  to 
break  the  silence  of  the  dawn.  The  cool  morning 
air  was  grateful  to  Marley,  though  it  was  not  the 
air  of  the  spring  they  were  already  having  in 
Macochee.  He  risked  getting  down  off  the  plat- 
form and  looked  ahead.  Beyond  the  long  train, 
coated  with  its  black  cinders,  he  saw  Chicago,  dim 
through  the  morning  light,  lying  dark,  mysterious 
and  grim  under  its  pall  of  smoke.  He  shuddered 
and  went  back  into  the  car.  After  a  while  the 
train  creaked  and  strained  and  pulled  on  again. 

The  passengers  had  begun  to  stir,  and  now  were 
hastening  to  rehabilitate  themselves  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world;  the  woman  with  the  baby  fastened  her 
dress,  the  drummer  put  on  his  collar  and  coat,  the 
men  drew  on  their  boots,  but  it  was  long  before  they 
felt  themselves  presentable  again.  The  women 
could  achieve  but  half  a  toilet,  and  though  they 
were  all  concerned  about  their  hair,  they  could  not 
make  themselves  tidy. 

The  train  was  running  swiftly,  now  that  it  was 
in  the  city,  where  it  seemed  it  should  have  run  more 

253 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

slowly ;  tlio  newsboy  camo  in  with  the  morning  pa- 
pers, followed  by  the  baggage  agent  with  his  jing- 
ling bunch  of  brass  checks.  The  porter  doffed  his 
white  jacket  and  donned  his  blue,  and  waited  now 
for  the  end  of  his  labors,  so  near  at  hand.  He  made 
no  pretense  of  brushing  his  passengers,  for  those  in 
his  charge  were  plainly  not  of  the  kind  with  tips  to 
bestow. 

As  the  train  rushed  over  unknown  streetts,  Marley 
caught  visions  of  the  crowds  blockaded  by  the  cross- 
ing gates,  street-cars  already  filled  with  people, 
empty  trucks  going  after  the  great  loads  under 
which  they  w^ould  groan  all  the  day;  and  people, 
people,  people,  ready  for  the  new  day  of  toil  that 
had  come  to  the  earth. 

At  last  the  train  drew  up  under  the  black  shed  of 
the  Union  Station,  and  Marley  stood  wdth  the 
passengers  that  huddled  at  the  door  of  the  car.  He 
went  out  and  down ;  he  joined  the  crowd  that  passed 
through  the  big  iron  gates  into  the  station;  and 
then  he  turned  and  glanced  back  for  one  last  look  at 
the  train  that  had  brought  him ;  only  a  few  hours 
before  it  had  been  in  Macochee ;  a  few  hours  more 
and  it  w^ould  be  there  again.     In  leaving  the  train 

254 


THE  GATES  OF  THE  CITY 

he  felt  that  he  was  breaking  the  last  tie  that  bound 
him  to  Macochee,  and  he  would  have  liked  to  linger 
and  gaze  on  it.  But  a  man  in  a  blue  uniform,  with 
the  official  surliness,  ordered  him  not  to  hold  back 
the  crowd.  He  climbed  the  steps,  went  out  into 
Canal  Street,  ran  the  gantlet  of  the  cabmen,  and 
was  caught  up  in  the  crowd  and  swept  across  the 
bridge  into  Madison  Street. 

He  was  in  Chicago,  and  here  among  these  thou- 
sands of  people,  each  hurrying  along  through  the 
sordid  crowd  to  his  own  task,  here  in  this  hideous, 
cruel  city,  he  must  make  a  place  for  himself,  and 
gain  the  foothold  from  which  he  could  fight  his  bat- 
tle for  existence  in  the  world. 


256 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 


LETTERS    HOME 


"How  does  she  seem  since  he  went  away?" 
asked  Judge  Blair  of  his  wife  two  days  after 
Marlej  had  gone.  He  spoke  in  his  usual  habit 
of  deference  to  his  wife's  observation,  though  his 
own  opportunities  for  observing  Lavinia  might 
have  been  considered  as  great  as  hers. 

"I  haven't  noticed  any  difference  in  her/'  said 
Mrs.  Blair,  and  then  she  added  a  qualifying  and 
significant  "yet" 

"Well,"  observed  the  judge,  "I  presume  it's  too 
early.    Has  she  heard  from  him  ?" 

"She  had  a  letter  this  morning;  that  is,  I  sup- 
pose it  was  from  him ;  she  ran  to  meet  the  postman, 
and  then  went  up  stairs." 

"You  didn't  mention  it  to  her?" 

Mrs.  Blair  looked  at  her  husband  in  surprise,  and 

256 


LETTEKS  HOME 

he  hastened  to  make  amends  by  acquiescing  in  the 
propriety  of  her  conduct,  when  h©  said: 

"Oh,  of  course  not." 

He  seemed  to  drop  the  subject  then,  but  that  it 
remained  uppermost  in  his  mind  was  shown  later, 
when  he  said: 

"I  think  she  will  be  weaned  away  from  him  after 
a  while,  don't  you?  That  is — ^if  he  stays  long 
enough." 

Mrs.  Blair  was  not  so  hopeful;  perhaps,  too,  in 
her  romantic  ideal  of  devotion,  she  did  not  wish 
Lavinia  to  be  weaned  away.  But  she  avoided  a  di- 
rect answer  by  the  suggestion : 

"Perhaps  he  will  be  weaned  away  from  her." 

This  possibility  had  not  occurred  to  the  judge. 

"Why,  the  idea !"  he  said  resentfully.  "Do  you 
think  him  capable  of  such  baseness  ?" 

Mrs.  Blair  laughed. 

"Would  you  like  to  think  of  your  daughter  as 
fickle,  and  forgetting  a  young  man  who  was  eating 
his  heart  out  for  her  far  away  in  a  big  city  ?" 

A  condition  of  such  mild  romantic  sorrow  might 
have  attracted  Mrs.  Blair  in  the  abstract,  but  it 
could  not  of  course  appeal  to  her  when  it  came  thus 

257 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

personally.  As  for  the  judge,  lie  dismissed  the 
problem,  as  he  had  so  many  times  before,  with  the 
remark : 

"Well,  we  can  only  wait  and  see." 

The  letter  which  Lavinia  received  from  Marley 
had  been  written  the  day  he  reached  Chicago.  It 
was  a  long  letter,  conceived  largely  in  a  facetious 
spirit,  and  he  had  labored  over  it  far  into  the 
night  in  the  little  room  of  the  boarding-house  he 
had  found  in  Ohio  Street. 

"I  chose  Ohio  Street,"  he  wrote,  because  its 
name  reminded  me  of  home.  Ohio  Street  may  once 
have  been  the  street  of  the  well-born,  but  it  has  de- 
generated and  it  is  now  the  abode  of  a  long  row  of 
boarding-places,  one  of  which  houses  me.  My  room 
is  a  little  comer  eyrie  in  the  second  story,  back, 
and  from  its  one  window  I  get  an  admirable  view 
of  the  garbage  dump,  the  atmosphere  and  certain 
intensely  red  bricks  which  go  to  make  the  wall  of 
the  house  next  door.  And  my  landlady,  ah,  I 
should  have  to  be  a  Balzac  to  describe  my  landlady ! 
She  wears  large,  vociferous  ear-rings,  and  she  says 
'y-e-e-a-a-s'  for  yes;  just  kind  o'  rolls  it  off  her 
tongue  as  if  she  didn't  care  whether  it  ever  got  off 

258 


LETTEKS  HOME 

or  not  She  is  truly  a  beauteous  lady,  given  much 
to  a  scarlet  hue  of  her  nasal  appendage ;  also,  her 
molar  system  is  unduly  prominent,  too  much  to  the 
fore,  as  it  were.  As  for  form  or  figure,  I'm  afraid 
I  couldn't  say  with  truth  that  she  goes  in  for  the 
sinuous,  far  from  it;  she  leans  more  to  the  ele- 
phantine style  of  feminine  architecture.  And  she 
has  a  way  of  reaching  out  that  is  very  attractive; 
probably  because  of  the  necessity  of  reaching  for 
room  rent.  She  bears  the  air  of  one  bent  on  no 
earthly  thing,  of  a  continual  soaring  in  quest  of  the 
unexpected ;  there  is  about  her  the  charm  of  the  in- 
tangible, the  unknowable. 

"The  boarding-house  itself  isn't  so  bad ;  I  get  my 
room  and  two  meals  for  three-fifty  a  week;  my 
noon  luncheons  I  have  to  take  down-town.  They 
have  dinner  here,  you  know,  in  the  evening.  I 
haven't  seen  much  of  the  people  in  the  boarding- 
house  ;  the  men  are  mostly  clerks,  and  the  women 
have  bleached  hair.  They  all  looked  at  me  when  I 
went  into  the  dining-room  this  evening.  There  is 
one  young  man  who  sits  at  my  table  who  is  in  truth 
a  very  unwise  and  immature  youth.  He  is  given 
greatly  to  the  use  of  words  of  awful  and  bizarre 

269 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

make-up.  Eor  instance,  lie  said  something  about 
the  jokes  they  get  off  in  the  shows  here  about  Irish- 
men, but  instead  of  saying  jokes,  he  said  ^traver- 
sities' !     What  do  you  think  of  that  V 

Marley  had  already  described  his  journey  to 
Chicago  in  terms  similar  to  those  in  which  he  de- 
scribed his  boarding-house;  of  Chicago  itself  he 
said: 

"It  seems  that  ages  ago  when  the  gods,  or  maybe 
the  demons,  were  making  over  plans  and  specifica- 
tions of  the  infernal  region,  Chicago  was  mentioned 
and  considered  by  the  committee.  AVhen  it  came  to 
a  vote  for  choice  of  sites  the  place  that  won  had  only 
three  more  votes  than  Chicago.  They  didn't  locate 
the  brimstone  plant  here,  and  from  what  I  can 
learn  Chicago  was  a  candidate  for  both  the  plant 
and  the  honor.  It  was  a  mistake  on  somebody^s 
part,  as  Chicago  is  certainly  an  ideal  place  for  it." 

But  the  letter  discussed  mostly  the  things  of 
Macochee,  where  Marley's  spirit  still  dwelt.  The 
passages  Lavinia  most  liked,  of  course,  were  those 
in  which  he  declared  his  love  for  her;  it  was  the 
first  love-letter  she  had  ever  received,  and  this  ten- 


260 


LETTEES  HOME 

der  experience  went  far  to  compensate  lier  for  the 
loneliness  she  felt  in  his  absence. 

It  grew  upon  her  after  she  had  read  her  letter 
many  times,  that  it  would  be  a  kindness  to  take  it 
over  and  read  to  Mrs.  Marley  those  parts,  at 
least,  that  were  not  personal.  It  was  a  hard  thing 
for  Lavinia  to  do ;  she  had  a  fear  of  Mrs.  Marley ; 
but  she  felt  more  and  more  the  kindness  of  it,  and 
so  in  the  morning  she  set  out  Lavinia  was  sur- 
prised and  a  little  disappointed,  when  Mrs.  Marley 
told  her  that  she  too  had  received  in  the  same  mail 
a  letter  from  Glenn.  It  somehow  took  away  from 
her  own  act,  the  more  when  Mrs.  Marley  calmly 
passed  her  letter  over  for  Lavinia  to  read. 

Lavinia,  who  had  not  been  able  to  resist  a  pang 
that  Marley  had  written  his  mother  quite  as 
promptly  as  he  had  written  her,  found  some  conso- 
lation in  the  fact  that  his  letter  to  his  mother  was 
not  nearly  so  long  as  his  letter  to  her,  and  it  con- 
tained, too,  the  same  information;  in  some  in- 
stances, identical  phrases,  as  letters  do  that  are  writ- 
ten at  the  same  time.  She  felt  that  she  should  be 
happy  in  them  both,  and  she  wished  she  could  deter- 
mine which  of  the  letters  had  been  written  first 

261 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

After  she  had  read  Mrs.  Marlej's  letter,  she  could 
not  speak  for  a  moment ;  the  letter  closed  with  a  de- 
scription of  the  sensations  it  gave  Marley  to  open 
his  trunk  and  come  across  the  Bible  his  mother  had 
packed  in  it.  But  she  controlled  herself,  and  when 
she  had  finished  reading  parts  of  her  own.  letter  to 
Mrs.  Marie  J,  she  said : 

"Well,  he  seems  to  be  in  good  spirits,  doesn't  he  ? 
He  writes  so  amusingly  of  everything.'^ 

Mrs.  Marley  looked  up  at  Lavinia  with  a  curious 
smile. 

"Why,  don't  you  see  ?"  she  said. 

"What  ?"  asked  Lavinia,  glancing  in  alarm  at  the 
two  letters  which  she  still  held  in  her  lap. 

"Why,  the  poor  boy  is  dying  of  homesickness; 
that's  what  makes  him  write  in  that  mocking  vein." 

"Do  you  think  that  is  so  ?"  Lavinia  leaned  for- 
ward. 

"Why,  I  know  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Marley,  with  a 
little  laugh.    "He's  just  like  his  father." 

For  a  moment  Lavinia  felt  a  satisfaction  in 
Marle/s  loneliness,  but  she  denied  the  satisfaction 
when  she  said: 

"He'll  get  over  it,  after  a  while." 

262 


LETTEES  HOME 

""Not  for  a  long  while,  I'm  afraid/'  said  Mrs. 
Marley.     ";N"ot  until  some  one  can  be  witli  him." 

Lavinia  blushed,  and  before  she  knew  it  Mrs. 
Marley  had  bent  over  and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"He  has  a  long  hard  battle  before  him,  my  dear," 
she  said,  "in  a  great  cruel  city.  We  must  help  him 
all  we  can." 

Lavinia  hesitated  a  moment,  then  she  put  her 
arms  about  Mrs.  Marley  and  drew  her  down  for  the 
kiss  which  sealed  their  friendship. 

They  sat  and  talked  of  Marley  for  a  long  time, 
and  at  last  when  Lavinia  rose  to  go,  she  held  out  to 
Mrs.  Marley  the  letter  her  son  had  written  her. 
She  looked  at  it  a  moment  before  handing  it  to  Mrs. 
Marley. 

"Would  you  like  to  keep  it  ?"  Mrs.  Marley  asked. 

"May  I?" 

"If  you  wish.  But  you  must  come  often ;  I  shall 
be  lonely  now,  you  know,  and  you  must  bring  his 
letters  and  read  parts  of  them.  He'll  be  writing 
so  many  more  to  you  than  he  will  to  me." 

Lavinia  received  a  letter  from  Marley  every  day ; 
it  was  not  long  before  Clemmons,  the  postman, 
smiled  significantly  when,  each  morning  at  the 

^.63 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

sound  of  his  whistle,  she  ran  to  meet  him  at  the 
door.  And  Lavinia  wrote  to  Marley  as  regularly 
herself,  sitting  at  the  little  desk  in  her  room  every 
night  long  after  the  house  was  dark  and  still. 

The  judge  could  find  no  hope  in  the  observations 
Mrs.  Blair  reported  to  him. 

"She  seems  to  have  developed  a  new  idea  of 
constancy,"  said  Mrs.  Blair.  "She  will  not  allow 
herself  to  do  a  thing,  or  go  to  a  single  place;  she 
will  hardly  accept  any  pleasure  because  he  isn't 
here  to  share  it.  I  believe  she  tries  not  to  have  a 
thought  that  is  not  of  him.  She  is  almost  fanat- 
ical about  it." 

"Oh  dear!"  said  the  judge.  "I  thought  the 
nightly  calls  were  a  severe  strain,  but  they  can  not 
compare  to  the  strain  of  nightly  letters." 

"He  writes  excellent  letters,  however,"  Mrs. 
Blair  said.  "I  wish  you  could  read  the  one  he 
wrote  his  mother.  A  boy  who  writes  like  that  to 
his  mother — " 

"How  did  you  get  to  see  a  letter  he  wrote  his 
mother  ?"  interrupted  the  judge. 

"Lavinia  showed  it  to  me." 

"Has  she  been  over  there  2^' 

264 


LETTERS  HOME 

'"Yes,    Why?" 

The  judge  shook  his  head  gravely,  as  if  the  situ- 
ation were  now  hopeless,  indeed. 


265 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  ABMY  OF  THE  UNEMPLOYED 

"I  am  very  tired  to-niglit/'  Marley  wrote  to 
Lavinia  a  day  or  so  later.  "I  have  been  mak- 
ing tlie  rounds  of  tlie  law  offices;  I  have  been 
to  all  the  leading  firms,  but — here  I  am,  still 
•without  a  place.  I  thought  I  might  get  a  place  in 
one  of  them  where  I  could  finish  my  law  studies, 
and  make  enough  to  live  on,  meanwhile;  I  had 
dreams  of  working  into  the  firm  in  time,  but  they 
were  only  dreams,  and  all  my  hopes  have  gone 
glimmering.  The  men  who  are  employed  in  the  law 
offices  are  already  admitted  to  the  bar;  most  of 
them  are  young  fellows,  but  some  are  old  and  gray- 
headed,  and  the  sight  of  them  gave  me  the  blues. 

"I  did  not  get  to  see  many  of  the  firm  members 
themselves;  their  offices  are  formidable  places. 
There  is  no  office  in  Macochee  like  them ;  they  have 

266 


THE  ABMY  OF  THE  UNEMPLOYED 

big  outer  rooms,  full  of  stenographers  and  clerka 
and  there  is  a  boy  at  a  desk  who  makes  you  tell  your 
business  before  you  can  get  in  to  see  any  of  the 
lawyers  themselves.  They  seem  to  be  mighty  big, 
important  fellows.  Most  of  them  would  not  see  me 
at  all ;  several  said  they  had  no  place  for  me  and 
dismissed  me  with  a  kind  of  pitying  smile;  one 
man,  when  I  asked  him  if  he  thought  there  was  an 
opening,  said  he  supposed  there  ought  to  be,  as  one 
lawyer  in  Chicago  had  died  of  starvation  only  the 
day  before.  But  some  were  kinder;  one,  whom  I 
shall  never  forget,  took  pains  to  sit  down  and  talk 
with  me  a  long  time,  but  he  was  no  more  en- 
couraging than  the  others.  He  said  the  profession 
was  terribly  overcrowded,  'that  is,'  he  corrected 
himself  with  a  tired  smile,  'if  you  can  call  it  a  pro- 
fession any  longer.  It  is  more  of  a  business  nowa- 
days and  the  only  ones  who  get  ahead  are  those  who 
have  big  corporations  for  clients.  How  they  all  live 
is  a  mystery  to  me !'  He  thought  I  had  better  not 
undertake  it  and  advised  me  to  go  into  some 
business.    But  then  most  of  them  did  that. 

"But  I  must  tell  you  of  my  visit  to  Judge  John- 
Bon.    You  will  remember  my  telling  you  of  him; 

267 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

he  was  Wade  PowelFs  chum  in  the  law  school  in 
Cincinnati,  and  Mr.  Powell  had  given  me  a  letter 
to  him.  I  had  a  hard  time  seeing  him;  the  hardest 
of  all.  When  I  went  into  the  big  stone  government 
building  he  was  holding  court,  and  a  lawyer  was 
making  an  argument  before  him.  I  waited  till  they 
were  all  done,  and  then  when  the  crier  had  ad- 
journed court — he  said  ^Oyez,  Oyez,  Oyez,'  instead 
of  the  ^Hear  ye,  hear  ye,  hear  ye'  we  have  in  Ohio ; 
it  sounded  so  old  and  quaint,  even  if  he  did  say 
'Oh  yes,'  for  ^Oyez !'  It  comes  from  the  old  Xor- 
man-French,  you  know;  ask  your  father  about  it, 
he'll  explain  it — I  tried  to  get  in  to  him.  I  suc- 
ceeded at  last,  but  it  was  hard  work.  He  didn't 
seem  glad  to  see  me;  he  looked  at  me  coldly,  and 
made  me  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  hurry  up  and  state  my 
business  promptly  and  get  away.  When  I  gave  him 
Wade  Powell's  letter  he  put  on  his  gold  glasses  and 
read  it ;  but — what  do  you  think  ? — I  don't  believe 
he  remembered  Wade  Powell  at  all!  At  least  he 
seemed  not  to.  Of  course  he  may  have  been  put- 
ting it  on.  Wouldn't  it  make  Wade  Powell  mad  to 
know  that  ?  I'd  give  a  dollar — and  I  haven't  any  to 
spare  either — to  see  him  when  he  hears  that  his  old 

268 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  UNEMPLOYED; 

friend,  Judge  Johnson  of  the  United  States  Cir- 
cuit Court,  couldn't  remember  him!  Well,  the 
judge  didn't  let  me  detain  him  long,  he  looked  at 
his  watch  a  moment,  and  then  he  advised  me  not 
to  try  it  in  Chicago ;  he  said  there  were  too  many 
lawyers  here  anyhow,  and  that  he  thought  a  young 
man  made  a  mistake  in  coming  to  a  city  at  all. 

"  *Why  don't  you  stay  in  a  small  town  V  he 
asked,  looking  at  me  sternly  over  his  glasses.  ^Liv- 
ing is  cheaper  there,  and  life  is  much  more  simple 
than  it  is  in  the  cities.  I've  often  wished  I  had 
stayed  in  a  little  town.' 

*'I  came  away,  as  you  can  imagine,  feeling  pretty 
much  cast  down  and  humbled  in  spirit.  There  are 
four  thousand  lawyers  in  Chicago ;  just  think  of  it, 
almost  as  many  lawyers  as  there  are  people  in 
Macochee!  As  I  walked  through  the  crowded 
streets  with  men  and  women  rushing  along,  I 
wondered  how  they  all  lived.  What  do  they  do? 
Where  are  they  all  going,  and  how  do  they  get  a 
place  to  stand  on?  As  I  came  across  the  bridge 
over  to  the  ITorth  Side  I  felt  that  there  was  no 
place  for  me  here  in  this  great,  dirty,  ugly  city, 
just  as  there  is  no  place  for  me  back  in  peaceful 

269 


THE  HAPPY  AYEKAGE 

Macochee,  where  every  minute  of  the  day  I  long  to 
be.  Anyway,  I  am  sure  that  there  is  no  place  for 
me  here  in  the  law,  and  I  shall  have  to  look  for 
something  else.  I  see  so  much  wretchedness  and 
poverty  and  squalor;  it  is  in  the  street  every- 
where— pale,  gaunt  men,  who  look  at  you  out  of 
sick,  appealing  eyes. 

"This  morning  I  saw  a  sight  down-town  that 
filled  me  with  horror;  it  was  noon,  and  a  great 
crowd  of  ragged  men  were  waiting  in  front  of  the 
Daily  News  office  in  Fifth  Avenue.  They  were  all 
standing  idly  and  yet  expectantly  about;  I  stood 
and  watched  them.  Presently,  as  at  some  signal, 
they  all  rushed  for  the  office  door,  and  then  all  at 
once  they  seemed  to  be  enveloped  in  a  white,  rust- 
ling cloud.  Each  one  had  a  newspaper,  and  they  all 
turned  to  one  page  and  began  to  read  rapidly ;  some^ 
times  two  or  three  men  bent  over  the  same  paper ;  in 
another  moment  they  had  scattered,  going  in  all  di- 
rections. Then  it  flashed  upon  me :  they  had  been 
waiting  for  the  noon  edition  of  the  paper  and  the 
page  they  had  all  turned  to  was  the  page  with  the 
Vant  ads'  on  it ;  they  were  all  looking  for  jobs !  It 
made  me  inexpressibly  sad.    I  do  not  wish  to  inflict 

270 


THE  AKMY  OF  THE  UNEMPLOYED 

my  own  sorrow  upon  yon,  dear  heart,  bnt  it  made 
me  shudder ;  what  if  I — ^but  no,  the  thought  is  too 
horrible  to  mention.  And  yet  I,  too,  belong  to  this 
great  army  of  the  unemployed. 

"As  I  write  the  clock  in  the  steeple  of  a  church 
a*block  away  chimes  the  hour  of  midnight;  so  you 
see  that  I've  retained  my  nocturnal  habits.  When 
the  poets  of  a  coming  generation  sing  of  me  (as 
they  doubtless  will,  after  my  death)  their  songs 
will  be  called  l^Toctumes." 

That  same  day  Doctor  Marley  received  a  letter 
from  his  son  which  Mrs.  Marley,  though  her  hus- 
band passed  it  over  to  her  to  read,  did  not  show 
to  Lavinia.    It  ran : 

"It's  rather  expensive  living  here,  I  find ;  espe- 
cially for  one  who  belongs  to  the  great  army  of  the 
unemployed.  My  contract  with  my  basiliscine 
landlady  calls  for  two  meals  a  day  and  a  bed  at 
night — also  for  three-fifty  per  week  in  payment  of 
said  two  meals  and  bed.  My  lunches  I  get  down- 
town ;  that  is,  I  did  get  them  down-town ;  for  two 
days  I  have  gone  without  lunches,  and  the  aforesaid 
landlady  looks  reproachfully  at  me  at  night  when 
she  sees  me  laying  in  an  extra  supply  of  dinner.  I 

271 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

don't  mind  tlie  lack  of  the  lunches,  even  if  she 
does,  but  I'll  have  to  pay  her  in  a  day  or  so  now. 
I'm  in  poor  spirits  to-night,  so  can't  write  well; 
cause  of  said  low  mental  temperature,  only  eighty 
cents  in  the  world  between  me,  my  landlady  and 
ultimate  starvation.  It's  funny  how  much  hun- 
grier a  fellow  gets  as  the  food  supply  gets  low. 
A  word  to  the  wise,  etc. 

"What  do  you  tliink?  I  met  Charlie  Davis 
on  the  street  this  morning.  He  is  living  here  now, 
working  in  some  big  department  store.  My,  it  was 
good  to  see  some  one  from  Macochee !  How  small 
the  world  is,  after  all! 

"How  are  you  all  ?  How  is  Dolly  ?  Does  Smith 
Johnson  still  clap  his  hands  at  his  dog  every  eve- 
ning as  he  comes  home,  and  does  the  dog  run  out 
to  meet  him  as  joyously  as  of  yore?  And  does 
Hank  Delphy  still  go  down-town  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves ?  And  has  Charlie  Eouly  had  any  fits  in  the 
Square  lately  ?  And^  father,  has  mother  got  a  girl 
yet  ?  Give  her  an  ocean  of  love  and  tell  her  not  to 
work  too  hard,  and  to  let  the  heathen  shift  for 
themselves  a  while.  They  haven't  any  trusts  to 
monopolize  the  jobs  as  yet,  and  they  ought  to  be 

372 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  UNEMPLOYED^, 

able  to  get  along.  Oh,  how  I'd  like  to  see  you 
all !  Answer  all  my  questions :  I  propounded  num- 
erous ones  to  you.  I  don't  remember  now  what 
all  of  them  were,  but  I  know  they  were  all  momen- 
tous and  had  much  to  do  with  my  well-being,  spir- 
itual and  physical,  not  to  say  financial.  And  see 
that  the  moss  doesn't  get  too  thickly  overlaid  on 
my  memory." 

Marley's  new  life  in  Chicago,  as  somewhat 
vaguely  reflected  in  his  letters,  impressed  those 
who  had  a  sense  of  having  been  left  behind  in  Ma- 
cochee,  as  but  a  continuation  of  the  life  he  had  led 
there,  that  is,  it  was  presented  to  them  as  one  long, 
hopeless  search  for  employment  He  told  of  his 
daily  tramps  up  and  down  the  city,  of  his  dutiful 
applications  for  work  in  every  place  where  the  boon 
of  work  might  be  bestowed,  and  of  the  unvarying 
refusals  of  those  in  whose  hands  had  been  intrusted, 
by  some  inscrutable  decree  of  the  providence  of 
economics,  the  right  to  control  the  opportunity 
of  labor.  It  was  as  if  the  primal  curse  of  earning 
his  bread  were  in  a  fair  way  to  be  taken  from 
man,  had  not  the  primal  necessity  of  eating  his 
bread  continued  unabated. 

273 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

The  routine  througli  whicli  lie  went  eacli  day 
had  begun  to  weary  Marley,  and  it  might  have  be- 
gun to  weary  his  readers  in  Macochee,  had  they 
not  all  felt  their  own  fortunes  somehow  bound  up 
with  his.  He  apologized  in  his  nightly  letters  for 
the  monotony  of  their  recitals,  but  he  hoped  it 
might  be  condoned  as  the  most  realistic  portrayal 
of  his  life  that  he  could  give.  He  tried  at  times 
to  give  his  letters  a  lighter  tone  by  describing,  with 
a  facility  that  grew  with  practice,  the  many  inci- 
dents that  attracted  him  in  a  city  whose  life  was 
all  so  new  and  strange  to  him;  he  could  not  help 
a  growing  interest  in  it  all,  and  while  Lavinia  was 
probably  unconscious  of  the  change,  his  letters 
were  now  less  conoemed  with  the  things  of  the  life 
he  had  left  in  Macochee,  and  more  and  more  with 
the  things  of  the  life  he  had  entered  upon  in  Chi- 
cago ;  as  on  a  palimpsest,  the  old  impressions  were 
erased  to  make  way  for  new  ones. 

But  try  as  he  would  to  give  to  his  letters  a  cheer 
that  was  far  from  expressing  his  own  spirit,  he 
could  not  save  them  from  the  despair  that  was 
laying  hold  of  him,  a  despair  which  finally  com- 
municated itself  in  the  declaration  that  it  was  now 

274 


THE  AKMY  OF  THE  XHSTEMPLOYED 

no  longer  with  him  a  question  of  selecting  employ- 
ment. 

"I  must  take,"  he  wrote,  "whatever  I  can  get, 
and  that  will  probably  be  some  kind  of  manual,  if 
not  menial,  work.  Sometimes,"  so  he  let  himself  go 
on,  ''I  feel  as  if  I  would  give  up  and  go  back  to 
Macochee,  defeated  and  done  for.  But  I  can  not 
come  to  that  yet,  though  I  would  like  to ;  oh,  how 
1  would  like  to !  But  I  don^t  dare,  my  pride  won't 
let  me  act  the  part  of  a  coward,  though  I  know  I 
am  one  at  heart  One  thing  keeps  me  up  and  that 
is  the  thought  of  you ;  I  see  your  face  ever  before 
me,  and  your  sweet  eyes  ever  smiling  at  me — " 

Lavinia's  eyes  were  not  smiling  as  she  read  this ; 
and  she  poured  out  her  own  grief  and  sympathy  in 
a  long  letter  that  she  promptly  tore  up,  to  pen  in 
its  stead  a  calmer,  braver  one,  that  should  hearten 
him  in  the  struggle  which,  as  she  proudly  assured 
him,  he  was  making  for  her. 

Marley's  description  of  his  straits  partly  pre- 
pared Lavinia  for  the  shock  of  the  letter  in  which 
he  said  he  had  found  a  job  at  last,  but  she  was 
hardly  prepared  to  learn  that  it  was  anything  so  far 
from  her  conception  of  what  was  due  him  as  a 

275 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

job  trucking  freight  for  a  railroad.  Tlie  mockery 
lie  put  into  the  picture  of  himself  in  a  blue  jumper 
and  overalls  could  not  console  her,  and  she  kept 
the  truth  from  every  one,  except  her  mother;  she 
preferred  rather  that  they  number  Marley  still  with 
the  army  of  the  unemployed  thau  to  count  him 
among  those  who  toiled  so  desperately  with  the 
muscles  of  their  arms  and  backs.  She  tried  to  con- 
ceal in  encouraging  congratulations  the  chagrin  of 
which  she  felt  she  should  be  ashamed,  and  she 
tried  to  show  her  appreciation  of  his  droll  sarcasms 
about  the  preparation  his  four  years  of  college  had 
given  him  for  the  task  of  trundling  barrels  of 
sugar   and   heaving   pianos    down   fromi   box-cars. 

^^I'm  sure  it's  honest  work,''  she  wrote,  "but 
do  be  careful,  dear,  not  to  hurt  yourself  in  lifting 
such  heavy  loads."  It  was  a  comfort  to  remind 
him  that  he  was  not  intended  to  do  such  work. 

There  was  a  relief,  however,  that  she  did  not  dare 
admit,  when  he  told  her  three  days  later  that  he 
had  lost  his  job. 

"I  realize  for  the  first  time  my  importance  in 
the  great  scheme  of  things,"  he  wrote.  "I  was 
fired  because  I  do  not  belong  to  the  freight  hand- 

27S 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  UNEMPLOYED 

lers'  imioii.  It  took  tliem  three  days  to  find  tliis 
out,  and  then  they  threatened  to  strike  if  the  rail- 
road company  did  not  immediately  discharge  me. 
The  railroad  company,  after  due  consideration, 
decided  to  let  me  out,  and — I'm  out.  It  makes  me 
tremble  to  think  of  the  consequences  that  would 
have  followed  had  they  decided  otherwise.  Think 
of  it!  The  railroad  tied  up,  business  at  a  stand- 
still and  the  commerce  of  the  nation  paralyzed, 
and  all  because  of  Glenn  Marley,  A.  B.  It  is 
really  encouraging  to  know  that  my  presence  on 
the  earth  is  actually  known  to  my  fellow-mortals ; 
it  has  at  least  been  discovered  that  I  am  alive  and 
in  Chicago,  even  if  my  diploma  is  not  recognized  by 
Freight  Handlers'  Union  'No,  63.  And  now,"  he 
concluded,  "as  Kipling  says,  it's  ^back  to  the  army 
again.  Sergeant,  back  to  the  army  again' — the 
army  of  the  unemployed." 

Lavinia  was  shocked  again  a  day  or  so  later 
when  on  opening  her  letter  she  met  the  announce- 
ment that  he  had  been  offered  a  job  with  another 
railroad  as  a  freight  handler. 

"But  you  need  not  be  alarmed,"  she  was  reas- 
sured to  read — ^though  it  was  not  until  she  thought 

277 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

it  all  over  afterward  that  she  began  to  wonder  how 
lie  had  divined  her  dislike  of  his  being  in  such 
work — "I  haughtily  declined,  and  turned  them 
down.  You  see  this  road  is  just  now  in  the  throes 
of  a  strike,  and  all  their  freight  handlers  are  out. 
Consequently,  they  have  had  to  employ  scabs  to  do 
the  work  of  the  strikers.  They  take  anybody — 
that's  why  they  were  ready  to  take  me.  But  as  I 
said,  I  declined.  Somehow,  I  couldn't  bring  my- 
self to  take  a  place  away  from  a  union  man." 

Lavinia  mistook  her  satisfaction  in  Marley's  dec- 
lination of  the  position  for  a  satisfaction  in  the 
nobility  of  his  sacrifice,  and  in  her  elation  she  re- 
lated the  circumstance  at  dinner.  Now  that  Marley 
had  declined  such  an  employment  she  felt  safe  in 
doing  this.  But  her  father  did  not  see  it  in  her 
light,  or  at  least  in  Marley's  light. 

"Humph !"  he  sneered ;  "so  he  sympathizes  with 
unionism,  does  he  ?  Well,  those  unions  will  own 
the  whole  earth  if  they  keep  on." 

"But  he  says  he  thought  of  the  wives  and  chil- 
dren of  the  union  men — ^" 

"Well,  but  why  doesn't  he  think  of  the  wives  and 
children  of  the  scabs,  as  he  calls  them  ?   They  have 

278 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  U:t^EMPLOYED 

as  mucli  riglit  to  live  and  "wt^rk  as  the  union 
men." 

Lavinia,  as  an  opponent  of  union  labor  Her- 
self, could  not  answer  this  argument,  though  she 
felt  it  her  duty  to  defend  Marley.  But  before 
she  could  proceed  in  his  defense,  her  father, 
strangely  enraged  at  the  mere  mention  of  the  pol- 
icies of  the  unions,  hurried  on: 

"The  union  didn't  show  any  consideration  for 
him  when  it  took  his  other  job  away  from  him." 

Lavinia  shot  a  reproachful  glance  at  her  mother, 
who  did  not  see  it  because  she  was  shooting  a 
glance  more  than  reproachful  at  her  husband,  and 
it  had  the  effect  of  silencing  and  humbling  the 
judge,  as  all  of  Lavinia's  arguments,  or  all  of 
the  arguments  known  to  the  propaganda  of  union 
labor,  could  not  have  done. 


279 


CHAPTEE  XXVII 

A   FOOTHOLD 

The  nest  letter  the  postman  gave  Lavinia  be- 
gan ecstatically: 

"I've  got  a  job  at  last!  I'm  now  working  for 
the  C.  C.  and  P.  Eailroad,  in  their  local 
freight  office,  and  I'm  not  trucking  freight  either, 
but  I'm  a  clerk — a  bill  clerk,  to  be  more  exact 
My  duties  consist  in  sitting  at  a  desk  and  writing 
out  freight  bills,  for  which  by  some  inscrutable 
design  of  Providence  my  study  of  common  carriers 
and  contracts  in  the  law  was  doubtless  intended  to 
prepare  me. 

"To-day  I  wrote  out  a  bill  for  freight  to  Cook  and 
Jennings,  Macochee,  Ohio,  and  you  can  imagine 
my  sensations.  It  made  me  homesick  for  a  while ; 
I  wished  that  by  some  necromancy  I  might  conceal 
myself  in  the  bill  and  go  to  Macochee  with  it; 

280 


A  FOOTHOLD 

I  had  a  notian  to  write  a  little  word  of  greeting  on 
the  bill,  but  I  didn't;  it  might  have  worried  old 
man  Cook's  brain  and  he  couldn't  stand  much  of 
a  strain  of  that  kind.  But  I'm  getting  nearer  Ma- 
cochee  every  day  now.  I  guess  I'm  to  be  a  rail- 
road man  after  all,  and  some  day  you'll  be  proud  to 
tell  your  friends  that  I  started  at  the  bottom.  'Oh, 
yes,'  you'll  be  boasting,  *Mr.  Marley  began  as  a 
common  freight  trucker ;  and  worked  his  way  up  to 
general  manager.'  Then  we'll  go  back  to  Macochee 
in  my  private  car.  I  can  see  it  standing  down  by 
the  depot,  on  the  side  track  close  to  Market  Street, 
baking  in  the  hot  sun,  and  the  little  boys  from 
across  the  tracks  will  be  crowding  about  it^  gaping 
at  the  white- jacketed  darky  who'll  be  getting  the 
dinner  ready.  We'll  have  Jack  and  Mayme  down 
to  dine  with  us,  and  your  father  and  mother  and 
Chad  and  Connie,  and  my  folks,  too,  and  maybe, 
if  you'll  let  me.  Wade  Powell.  Then,  of  course, 
the  Macochee  people  will  think  better  of  me ;  they 
won't  be  saying  that  I'm  no  good,  but  instead  they'll 
stand  around,  in  an  easy,  careless  way,  and  say, 
'Oh,  yes,  I  knew  Glenn  when  he  was  a  boy.  I 
always  said  Ee'd  get  up  in  the  world.' 

2831 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

**But,  ah  me,  just  now  I'm  a  bill  clerk  at  fifty 
dollars  a  month,  tliank  you,  and  glad  of  the  chance 
to  get  it ;  so  is  my  voluptuous  landlady  glad ;  she'll 
get  her  board  money  a  little  more  regularly  now. 

"I  suppose  you'll  want  to  know  something  about 
my  surroundings.  They  are  not  elegant;  the  office 
is  a  big  barn  of  a  place,  crowded  full  of  desks, 
where  we  sit  and  write  from  eight  in  the  morning 
until  any  hour  at  night  when  it  occurs  to  the  boss 
to  tell  us  we  can  go.  Last  night  it  was  ten  o'clock 
before  the  idea  struck  him.  They  kindly  allow  us 
an  hour  in  which  to  run  out  to  a  restaurant  for 
supper.  The  windows  in  the  office  were  washed,  so 
tradition  runs,  in  1493,  the  year  after  Columbus 
landed.  Outside,  the  freight  trains  rush  by  con- 
stantly so  as  to  keep  the  noise  going.  My  boss, 
whose  name  is  Clark,  strikes  me  as  being  a  sort 
of  fool  of  an  innocuous  sort.  He  is  a  conscientious 
ass,  but  a  poor,  unfortunate,  deluded  simpleton. 
He's?  one  of  those  close-fisted  reubs  whose  chief 
care  is  the  pennies,  and  whose  only  interest  in 
life  is  the  C.  C.  and  P.  Railroad.  He  makes  his 
business  his  own  personal  affair  and  the  C.  C. 
and  P.  his  god.     He  lunches  down-town  and  pays 

282 


A  FOOTHOLD 

twenty  oents  for  his  luncli,  never  more,  often  fif- 
teen. One  of  the  first  things  he  told  me  was,  now 
that  I  had  come  under  his  protecting  wing,  to  be- 
gin to  save  money.  They  have  a  yonng  man  in  the 
office  here,  whose  desk  is  next  to  mine,  who  was  bom 
somewhere  in  Canada,  and  is  always  *a-servin'  of 
her  Majesty  the  Queen,'  as  Kipling  says.  He  told 
me  with  much  gusto  how  he  had  hung  out  of  the 
office  window  last  'New  Year's  a  Canadian  flag. 
He  seemed  proud  of  having  done  so,  and  also  told 
me,  boasted  to  me,  in  fact,  that  he  was  going  to 
hang  the  same  flag  out  of  the  same  window  on  the 
Fourth  of  July.  'Oh,  yes,  you  are!'  thinks  I.  So 
I  got  the  flag  and  ripped  it  into  shreds  and  started 
it  through  the  waste-basket  on  a  hurried  trip  to 
oblivion.  A  has  the  Canadian  flag!  He'll  prob- 
ably get  another  one,  but  if  I  get  hold  of  it,  it'll 
meet  the  same  fate  as  the  first  one.  Then  I  have 
something  to  think  of  that'll  keep  my  mind  off  my 
horrible  fate  in  being  here  in  Chicago,  while  I 
smile  in  ghoulish  glee  with  a  cynical  leer  over- 
spreading my  classic  features,  at  the  young  man's 
disapproval  of  my  actions.  The  rest  of  the  men  in 
the  office  aren't  much  to  boast  of.     They're  a  di- 

283 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

luted  mixture  of  Nijni  E'crgordian  and  Bill  Hoff- 
man the  jeweler.  I  still  hate  this  town ;  I  wish  it 
were  buried  under  seven  hundred  and  thirty  feet 
of  Lake  Michigan." 

Marley^s  next  letter  to  Lavinia  opened  thus: 

"Extract  from  the  diary  of  J.  H.  Anderson, 
Esq.,  Canadian,  clerk  in  the  freight  office  of  the 
C.  C.  and  P.  Ey.,  at  Chicago,  HI.,  April  20. 

'^  'New  man  on  desk  next  to  mine ;  young,  about 
24.  Kather  decent  fellow,  but  conceited.  Do  not 
think  he  will  last.  Took  me  to  lunch  with  him 
this  evening.' 

"l^Tow  what  do  you  think  of  that?  The  youth 
I  described  to  you  at  such  length  keeps  a  diary, 
and  the  foregoing  is  culled  therefrom.  He  left  it 
by  some  mistake  on  top  of  his  desk,  and  I  picked  it 
up  innocently  enough  to-night,  to  see  what  it  was, 
and  that  was  the  first  thing  my  eye  lit  on.  He 
is  evidently  an  adept  at  coming  to  conclusions,  ap- 
parently he  can  sum  one  up  in  two  whisks  of  a  por- 
ter's broom.  I  was  much  surprised  to  find  myself 
so  well  done.  Done  on  every  side  in  those  few 
words.  I've  rather  enjoyed  it ;  strikes  me  as  being 
uproariously  funny.    Maybe  his  dictum  is  correct. 

284 


A  FOOTHOLD 

You'll  agree  witli  m©  as  to  his  ricliness.  Tell 
every  one  about  it  and  see  what  they  will  think. 
Tell  your  mother  and  my  mother.  Tell  Jack  and 
give  him  a  chance  to  laugh.  Tell  Mayme  Carter, 
too.^ 

Lavinia  ran  at  once  to  Her  mother. 

"Listen,"  she  said.    And  she  read  it. 

Mrs.  Blair  laughed. 

"How  fimnyl"  she  said,  "and  how  well  he 
writes !    I  should  think  he'd  go  into  literature." 

Lavinia  laid  the  letter  down  in  her  lap  and 
looked  at  her  mother  as  if  she  had  been  startled  by  a 
striking  coincidence. 

"Why,  do  you  know,  IVe  thought  of  that  very 
thing  myself." 

"But  read  on,"  urged  Mrs.  Blair. 

Lavinia  picked  up  the  letter  again  and  began: 

"Well,  do—" 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  blushing  hotly,  "I  can't 
read  you  that    Let's  see — ^" 

She  leafed  over  the  letter,  one,  two,  three,  four 
sheets.    Mrs.  Blair  was  smiling. 

"Aren't  you  leaving  out  the  best  parts?"  she 
asked  archly. 

88S 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

"Oh,  there's  nothing/'  Lavinia  said,  not  look- 
ing up.    "But — oh,  well,  this  is  all.    He  says — 

"  'There  is  a  good  deal  of  unrest  and  uneasiness 
here  just  now,  because  the  first  of  May  is  coming. 
The  road  is  anticipating  trouble  with  the  freight 
handlers;  they  may  go  out  on  a  strike  that  day.' 

"Oh,  dear,"  sighed  Lavinia,  "more  strikes,  and 
I  suppose  that  means  more  trouble  for  Glenn." 

"Why,  the  strike  of  those  men  can't  affect  him,'' 
Mrs.  Blair  assured  her.    "He's  a  clerk  now." 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  what  if  he  gets  the  notion  he 
ought  to  help  them  by  quitting  too  ?" 


286 


CHAPTEE  XXVIII 

THE   TALK   OF   THE   TOWN 

Macocliee's  common  interest  in  Mar  ley  was 
sharpened  by  his  leaving  town,  and  out  of  the 
curiosity  that  raged,  Lawrence  and  Mayme  Car- 
ter one  evening  made  a  call  on  Lavinia. 

"Well,  Lavinia,"  said  Lawrence,  almost  as  soon 
as  they  were  seated  in  the  parlor,  *  that's  the  news 
about  Glenn?     How's  he  getting  along?" 

"Oh,  pretty  well,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"Does  he  like  Chicago?" 

"Oh,  yes ;  that  is,  fairly  well." 

"Run  get  his  letters  and  let  us  read  them." 

"Why,  Jack !    The  idea !"  Mayme  rebuked  him. 

But  Lavinia  instantly  got  up. 

"Well,  I'll  read  you  part  of  one  or  two,"  she 
said.  "He  can  tell  you  much  better  than  I  all 
about  himseK." 

287 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

She  was  gone  from  the  room  a  moment  and  then 
returned  with  two  thick  envelopes. 

"Mj,  Lavinia,  you  don't  intend  to  read  all  that, 
do  you  ?"  Lawrence  made  a  burlesque  of  looking 
at  his  watch. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid/'  said  Lavinia,  smil- 
ing.   She  opened  a  letter. 

"Here's  one  that  came  several  days  ago.  He 
mentions  you  both  in  this  one." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  he  connects  our  names  ?" 
Lawrence  affected  consternation. 

"Can't  you  be  serious  a  moment  ?"  Mayme  said, 
"1  want  to  hear  what  he  says ;  do  go  on,  Lavinia, 
and  don't  mind  Jack." 

Lavinia  read  the  extract  from  the  diary  and 
Marley's  comment. 

"Doesn't  he  say  anything  about  you?"  said 
Lawrence.  "Why  don't  you  read  that  ?  You  skip 
the  most  interesting  parts.  You'd  better  let  me 
read  them.  Here — "  and  he  held  out  his  hand 
for  the  letter. 

But  Lavinia  laid  one  letter  securely  in  her  lap 
and  opened  the  other. 

"Listen  to  this,"  she  began,  and  then  she  glanced 

288 


THE  TALK  OF  THE  TOWK 

over  the  first  page  and  half-way  down  the  sec- 
ond. 

^'Here  you're  skipping  again/'  cried  Lawrence. 
''Why  don't  you  play  fair?" 

"  *I  have  made  a  friend/  he  says/'  she  began, 
"  'and  it  all  came  about  through  the  strike.  You 
know  the  freight  handlers  went  out  on  the  first  of 
May,  and  since  then  there  has  been  more  excitement 
than  work  in  the  office.  The  freight  house  is  stacked 
high  with  freight,  and  only  a  few  men  are  work- 
ing there  and  they  are  afraid  of  their  lives.  All 
around  the  outside  of  the  big,  long  shed  are  police- 
men and  detectives,  and  the  strikers'  pickets.  All 
day  they  walk  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  at  a 
safe  distance,  just  ofi  the  company's  ground,  and 
they  waylay  everybody  and  try  to  get  them  not  to 
go  to  work  here.  I  happened  to  see  the  strike 
when  it  began.  It  was  day  before  yesterday  morn- 
ing. I  had  gone  out  in  the  freight  house  on  some 
little  errand  and  just  at  ten  o'clock  I  noticed  a 
man  walk  down  by  the  platform  that  runs  along 
outside  the  shed.  I  saw  him  stop  by  one  of  the 
big  doors  and  look  in.  Suddenly  he  gave  a  low 
whistle,  then  another.     The  men  in  the  freight 

289 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

house  stopped  and  looked  up.  Then  the  man  out- 
side raised  his  arm,  and  held  up  two  fingers — ' '' 

"He  wanted  them  to  go  swimming  probably/'  in- 
terrupted Lawrence. 

"Oh,  Jack,  do  stop,"  said  Mayme,  irritably. 
"Right  at  the  most  interesting  part,  too!  Do  go 
on,  Lavinia." 

Lavinia  read  on: 

"  ^Then  the  man  outside  raised  his  arm,  and  held 
up  two  fingers,  and  instantly  every  truck  in  the 
shed  dropped  to  the  floor,  bang,  the  men  all  went 
and  put  on  their  coats,  marched  out  of  the  freight 
house — and  the  strike  was  on.  Well,  after  that 
came  the  policemen  and  the  detectives  and  the 
pickets,  to  say  nothing  of  the  reporters.  It  is  about 
these  last  that  I  mean  to  tell  you,  for  among  them 
I  have  found  this  new  friend.  The  other  day  a 
young  man  came  into  the  ofiice  to  see  Clark,  our 
boss.  I  was  attracted  by  him  at  once.  He  was 
tall,  and  his  smooth-shaven  face  was  refined  and 
thoughtful ;  I  call  him  good-looking ;  his  eyes  were 
dark  and  his  nose  straight  and  full  of  character; 
his  lips  were  thin  and  level ;  his  hair  was  not  quite 
black  and  stopped  just  on  the  right  side  of  being 

290 


THE  TALK  OE  THE  TOWK 

curly.  He  was  dressed  modestly,  but  stylishly;  I 
remember  lie  wore  gloves — he  always  does — and  I 
thought  him  somewhat  dudish.  But  what  was  my 
pleasure  to  see  on  his  waistcoat  the  little  white  cross 
of  my  fraternity!  I  rushed  up  to  him  instantly, 
and  gave  him  the  grip.  He  was  a  Sig.,  from  an  In- 
diana college,  and  he  is  a  reporter  on  the  Courier, 
His  name  is  James  Weston ;  no,  he  is  no  relation  to 
Bob  Weston  of  Macochee  at  all.  I  asked  him  that 
the  first  thing;  but  he  is  some  relation  to  the 
Cliffords,  distant,  I  suppose.'  " 

"I  wonder  if  that  isn't  the  young  man  who 
visited  them  summer  before  last?"  asked  Mayme. 
"nibet  it  is!" 

"N'o,  it  can't  be,"  said  Lavinia,  "I  thought  of 
that  the  very  first  thing,  but  you  see  he  says," 
and  Lavinia  read  on: 

"  'He  says  he  hasn't  been  there  for  years.  We 
chatted  together  for  a  few  minutes  and  were  friends 
at  once.  To-morrow  night,  if  I  can  get  off  in  time, 
I'm  to  dine  with  him  at  a  cafe  down-town.  My, 
but  it  was  good  to  see  some  one  wearing  that  little 
white  cross!  You  see  my  college  training  has 
done  me  some  good  after  all.'  " 

S91 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

In  their  conversation  afterward,  Lavinia  and 
Mayme  celebrated  Marley's  abilities  as  a  writer, 
but  Lawrence  begged  Lavinia  to  read  them  more, 
particularly,  as  he  assured  her,  those  parts  about 
herself,  saying  he  could  judge  better  of  Marley's 
abilities  after  he  heard  how  he  treated  romantic 
subjects. 

"I  want  to  know  how  he  handles  the  love  inter- 
est," he  said. 

"Oh,  you  got  that  from  George  Halliday,"  said 
Mayme.  "It  sounds  just  like  him  when  he's  discuss- 
ing some  book  none  of  us  has  read,  doesn't  it, 
Lavinia  V 

Lavinia  admitted  that  it  did  sound  like  Halli- 
day,  and  Mayme  returned  to  her  attack  on  Law- 
rence by  saying: 

"What  do  you  know  about  writing,  any- 
way?" 

They  might  have  gone  farther  along  this  line 
had  not  Mrs.  Blair  entered  with  a  plate  of  oake 
and  some  ice-cream  that  had  been  left  over  from 
their  dessert  at  supper.  These  refreshments  in- 
stantly seemed  to  affect  Mayme  with  the  idea  that 
the  call  had  assumed  the  formality  of  a  social 

092 


,THE  TALK  OE  THE  TOWN: 

function,  and  as  she  nibbled  at  her  cake,  she  asked 
with  a  polite  interest : 

"Just  what  is  Mr.  Marley's  position  with  the 
railroad,  Lavinia?" 

"Oh,"  Lavinia  answered,  "he  has  a  place  in  the 
office  of  the  freight  department ;  he's  a  clerk  there." 

"I'm  so  glad  to  know,"  said  Mayme,  as  if  in 
relie'f. 

"Why  ?"  Lavinia  looked  up  in  alarm. 

"Oh,  well,  you  know — ^how  people  talk."  Mayme 
raised  her  pale  eyebrows  significantly.  Lavinia 
was  disturbed,  but  Lawrence,  detecting  the  dan- 
ger, instantly  turned  it  off  in  a  joke. 

"She  heard  he  was  a  section  hand,"  he  said. 

"The  idea !"  laughed  Lavinia. 

"Isn't  this  just  the  worst  place  for  gossip  you 
ever  heard  of  ?"  said  Mayme. 

"The  worst  ever,"  said  Lawrence.  "If  I  were 
you  I'd  quit  and  start  a  reform  movement." 

When  they  had  gone  and  were  strolling  toward 
the  Carters',  Lawrence  grumbled  at  Mayme: 

"What  did  you  want  to  give  it  all  away  to  La- 
vinia for  ?" 

"Why,  Jack,  I  didn't  say  anything,  did  I  ?" 

293 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

"Oh,  no,  nothing — only  yon  tipped  off  the  whole 
thing  to  her." 

"Why,  what  did  I  say  that  hinted  at  it,  even  V 

"  'Oh,  you  know  how  people  talk !'  "  Lawrence 
mimicked  her  tone  as  he  repeated  her  words. 

"Well,  you  know  they  do,  Jack,  and  you  know 
all  the  mean  things  they've  been  saying  about 
Glenn.  And  you  remember  Charlie  Davis'  mother 
told  mama  that  Charlie  ran  across  him  in  the  street 
in  Chicago  and  that — " 

"Oh,  Charlie  Davis!"  said  Lawrence,  as  impa- 
tiently as  he  could  say  anything.  "What's  he? 
Anyway,  you  didn't  have  to  tell  Lavinia." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  we  got  the  truth  anyway." 

"Yes,  so  am  L" 

"We  must  tell  everybody." 

"Sure,"  acquiesced  Lawrence,  "if  we  can  get  the 
gossips  started  the  other  way  they'll  have  him 
president  of  the  road  in  a  few  days." 


294 


CHAPTEK  XXIX 


A    MAN    OF    LETTEES 


The  Macocliee  gossips,  after  they  were  as- 
sured he  was  engaged  in  clerical,  and  not  man- 
ual work,  might  have  promoted  Marley  much 
more  rapidly  than  his  railroad  would  have  done, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  news  that  he  had  changed 
his  employment.  They  had  gone  far  enough  to 
noise  it  about  that  Marley  was  chief  clerk  in  the 
office,  where  he  was  only  a  bill  clerk,  when  the  Re- 
'publican,  with  the  impartial  good  nature  with 
which  it  treated  all  of  Macochee's  folk,  so  long  as 
they  kept  out  of  politics,  mentioned  him  for  the 
first  time  since  his  departure,  and  then,  to  tell  of 
the  advancement  he  was  rapidly  making  in  the 
metropolis  that  loomed  so  large  and  impor- 
tant in  their  provincial  eyes.  Lavinia  had  the 
facts  in  a  letter  from  Marley  a  day  or  so  before  the 

295 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

Bepuhlican  had  them,  though  she  never  could  im- 
agine, as  she  told  everybody,  where  the  Bepuhlican 
got  its  information. 

"I  have  a  big  piece  of  news  to  tell  you,"  he 
wrote.  "Last  night  I  dined  with  Weston.  It  was 
the  first  really  enjoyable  evening  I  have  had  since  I 
struck  the  town.  Luckily,  the  strikers  had  every- 
thing tied  up  so  tight  that  we  could  do  little  work, 
and  I  had  no  trouble  in  getting  off  in  time.  I  met 
him  about  six  o'clock,  and  we  went  to  the  swellest 
restaurant  in  town.  Weston  is  the  finest  fellow 
you  ever  saw ;  as  it  was  pay  night,  he  said  he  would 
blow  me  off  to  a  good  dinner.  And  he  did,  the 
best  dinner  I  have  ever  eaten;  there  were  half  a 
dozen  courses,  and  as  we  ate  we  talked,  talked 
about  everything,  college  days,  the  hard  days  that 
come  after  college,  and  you,  and  everything.  Wes- 
ton's experience  has  been  about  the  same  as  mine — 
one  long,  hopeless  search  for  a  job.  He,  however, 
did  not  wait  so  long  as  I  did ;  he  said  that  he  real- 
ized there  was  no  place  for  him  in  a  small  town, 
and  so  he  set  out  for  the  city  almost  at  once.  His 
father  wanted  him  to  study  medicine,  but  he  said 
h©  hadn't  the  money  or  the  patience  to  wait,  and  he 

296 


A  MAN  OF  LETTERS 

hated  medicine  anyway,  and,  as  newspaper  work 
offered  the  quickest  channel  to  making  a  living  he 
chose  that.  His  secret  ambition,  he  confessed,  is 
literature,  and  I  believe  he  is  writing  a  book,  but 
he  would  not,  or  did  not,  tell  me  as  much.  He  says 
he  thinks  newspaper  work  a  bad  business  for  any 
one  to  get  into,  but  then  I  have  discovered  that 
that  is  the  way  every  man  talks  about  his  own 
calling. 

"After  we  had  finished  our  dinner,  we  sat  there 
for  a  long,  long  time  over  our  coffee  and  cigar- 
ettes, and  we  finally  got  to  talking  about  the  strike. 
Weston,  you  know,  has  been  working  on  it,  and 
I  was  glad  to  be  able  to  tell  him  a  good  many  things 
he  said  he  could  use.  Finally,  I  don't  know  just 
how  it  came  about,  but  I  told  him  how  the  strike 
started  with  us,  about  the  man  appearing  in  the 
street  alongside  the  freight  house,  whistling,  and 
then  holding  up  two  fingers — I  think  I  described  it 
to  you  in  a  letter  the  other  night.  Weston  was 
greatly  interested ;  I  can  see  him  still,  sitting  across 
the  table  from  me,  knocking  the  ashes  from  his 
cigarette  into  his  empty  coffee-cup  and  looking  so 
intently  at  me  out  of  his  brown  eyes  that  he  almost 

297 


THE  HAPPY  AYEEAGE 

embarrassed  me.  And  what  was  my  surprise  when 
I  finished  to  have  him  say : 

"  *By  Jove,  Marley,  I'll  have  to  use  that  IVe 
been  wondering  how  to  lead  my  story  to-night' 

"ITow  you  know  the  strike  at  our  place  occurred 
several  days  ago,  but  since  then  it  has  been  spread- 
ing, and  to-day  the  men  on  another  road  walked 
out  This  morning  when  I  picked  up  the  Courier 
and  turned  to  the  strike  news,  here  is  what  I  read, 
under  big  head-lines : 

"  *A  short  man  with  a  brown  derby  hat  cocked 
over  his  eye  walked  leisurely  down  Canal  Street 
at  ten  o'clock  yesterday  morning.  The  short  man 
walked  a  block  and  then  turned  and  walked  back. 
At  the  open  door  of  the  C.  and  A.'s  big  freight 
house  he  stopped.  Suddenly  he  whistled,  once, 
twice,  thrice,  in  low  notes.  Then  he  raised  his  hand 
with  a  gesture  that  was  graceful  and  yet  command- 
ing, and  held  up  two  fingers.  Inside  the  freight 
house  the  men  who  were  heaving  away  at  the  big 
bales  and  boxes,  attracted  by  the  whistle,  paused' 
in  their  labor  and  looked  up;  they  saw  the  man 
raise  his  two  fingers;  and,  with  the  discipline  of 
well-trained  troops,  they  dropped  their  trucks,  put 

298 


A  MAN  OF  LETTERS 

on  their  coats  and  marched  out  of  the  freight 
house.  And  the  Alton  had  been  added  to  the  list 
of  railroads  whose  men  were  on  strike.' 

"Of  course,  I  was  surprised  and  puzzled,  and  a 
little  pleased  too,  that  I  had  had  a  hand  in  the  ar- 
ticle. As  I  read  it,  though,  I  thought  of  a  himdred 
details  I  might  have  told  Weston,  and  I  began  to 
wish  I  had  written  the  account  myself.  This  after- 
noon he  came  around  to  the  office  again,  and  the 
first  thing  he  said  was : 

**  *Did  you  see  your  story  this  morning  V 

"I  told  him  I  had,  of  course.  'But,'  I  added, 
'that  was  the  way  it  happened  on  our  road ;  not  on 
the  Alton.' 

"But  he  only  laughed,  and  said  something  about 
the  tricks  of  the  trade. 

"And  now  for  the  news  I  was  going  to  tell  you. 
I  told  Weston,  as  we  talked  the  story  over,  of  my 
little  wish  that  I  had  written  the  article  myself,  and 
he  looked  at  me  intently  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
said: 

"  'How'd  you  like  to  break  into  newspaper  busi- 
ness ?' 

"My  heart  leaped  j  it  came  to  me  suddenly  that 

299 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

it  wasn't  the  law,  nor  railroad  work,  but  journal- 
ism that  I  wanted  to  enter.  I  told  him  so  frankly 
and  he  said: 

"'Well,  it's  a  dog's  life  and  I  don't  know 
whether  I'm  doing  you  a  good  turn  or  not,  but 
I'll  speak  to  the  city  editor  tonight  He's  a  litr 
tle  short  of  men  just  now.' 

"My  heart  is  in  my  mouth.  I  can  hardly  wait 
till  to-morrow,  when  I'm  to  see  him  again.  Think 
of  it,  dear,  and  all  it  means !  It  means  more  money, 
association  with  men  of  my  own  kind,  men  like 
Weston,  and  a  fine,  interesting  life ;  and  it  meansi 
you ;  oh,  it  means  you !" 

Marley  was  able  in  this  letter  to  communicate 
to  Lavinia  some  of  his  enthusiasm  and  some  of 
his  suspense,  and  she  found  it  difficult  to  await  the 
result  of  his  next  interview  with  Weston.  She  be- 
gan to  count  the  hours  until  Marley  and  Weston 
should  meet  again,  and  then  in  a  flash  it  came  over 
her  that  they  had  doubtless  already  met,  that  the 
decision  was  already  known,  the  fate  determined, 
and  she  was  still  in  ignorance.  She  had  a  sense  of 
mystery  in  it,  and  she  grew  impatient,  wondering 
why  he  did  not  telegraph.  The  next  day  came,  and 

300 


A  MAN  OF  LETTERS 

a  letter  witli  it;  but  the  letter  did  not  decide  any- 
thing. Marlej  wrote  that  Weston  had  spoken  to 
the  city  editor,  and  that  he  had  told  him  to  bring 
Marlej  around  that  evening.  And  so,  other  hours 
of  waiting,  and  then,  at  last,  another  letter.  Mar- 
ley  announced  the  result  with  what  self -repression 
he  could  command. 

"It's  settled,"  he  wrote.  "I'm  to  go  to  work 
Monday — as  a  reporter  on  the  staff  of  the  Courier. 
The  salary  to  begin  with  is  tO'  be  fifteen  dollars  a 
week.  I'm  glad  to  quit  railroad  work;  I'm  not 
built  to  be  a  railroad  man ;  I  can't  adhere  to  rules 
as  they  want  me  to,  and  I  can't  bow  down  as  it 
seems  I  should.  I  didn't  tell  you  that  my  boss 
and  I  had  not  been  getting  along  very  well  lately ; 
I  thought  I  wouldn't  worry  you.  I  was  glad  to  be 
able  to  tell  him  to-day  that  I'd  quit  Saturday.  I 
did  it  in  a  proud  and  haughty  manner ;  he  seemed 
surprised  and  shocked — even  pained.  And  when  I 
broke  the  news  gently  to  the  young  Canuck  he  ex- 
pressed great  sorrow  and  regret,  but  in  his  secret 
heart  I  knew  he  was  glad,  for  now  as  a  prophet  he 
can  vindicate  himseK,  at  least  partly,  in  his 
diary." 

301 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

Lavinia  was  glad  that  Marley  had  gone  into 
newspaper  work ;  much  as  she  had  tried  she  had  not 
been  able  to  conceive  of  him  in  exactly  the  ideal 
light  as  a  clerk  in  a  railroad  office;  that  position, 
while  it  may  have  had  its  own  promise,  nevertheless 
did  not  envelope  him  in  the  atmosphere  she  con- 
sidered native  to  him.  In  his  new  relation  to  lit- 
erature, which,  in  her  ignorance,  she  confounded 
with  journalism,  she  felt  a  deep  satisfaction,  and  a 
new  pride,  and  she  was  glad  when  the  Republican 
announced  the  fact  of  Marley's  new  position;  she 
felt  that  it  was  a  fitting  vindication  of  her  lover 
in  the  eyes  of  the  people  of  Macochee  and  a  rebuke 
for  the  distrust  they  had  shown  in  him. 

Thereafter  her  mail  was  increased,  for  in  addi- 
tion to  his  letter  Marley  sent  her  the  Courier  with 
his  work  marked;  often  he  marked  Weston's  as 
well,  and  early  in  June  he  wrote :  "I  want  you  to 
read  Weston's  story  in  Sunday's  paper  about  the 
Derby;  it's  a  peach;  it's  the  best  piece  of  frill 
writing  that  the  town  has  seen  in  many  a  day." 

The  tone  of  Marley's  letters  now  became  more 
cheerful;  it  was  evident  to  Lavinia  that  he  was 
finding  an  interest  in  life,  and  in  his  descriptions 


A  MAN  OF  LETTERS 

of  his  daily  work  and  the  places  all  over  Chicago 
it  took  him  to  and  the  people  of  all  sorts  it  brought 
him  in  contact  with,  she  found  a  new  interest  for 
her  own  life.  When  he  wrote  that  his  salary  had 
been  increased  because  of  his  story  about  a  Sunday 
evening  service  in  a  church  of  the  colored  people 
in  Dearborn  Street,  it  seemed  to  her  that  happiness 
at  last  had  come  to  them,  and  if,  with  the  passing 
of  June,  she  felt  a  pang  at  Marley's  grieving  in 
one  of  his  letters  that  this  was  the  month  in  which 
they  had  intended  to  be  married,  she  was  consoled 
by  the  rapid  progress  he  was  making  in  his  work. 
His  salary  had  been  raised  a  second  time;  he  was 
receiving  now  twenty-five  dollars  a  week ;  it  seemed 
large  to  her,  and  she  could  not  understand  why  it 
did  not  seem  large  to  Marley,  even  when  he  wrote 
that  Weston  was  paid  forty  dollars  a  week. 

Her  chief  joy,  perhaps,  lay  in  the  fact  that  he 
seemed  to  be  living  more  comfortably  than  he  had 
before.  Now  that  he  had  left  his  dismal  boarding- 
house  she  found  a  relief  from  its  subtly  communi- 
cated influence  of  the  stranded  wrecks  of  life,  as 
Marley  surely  found  it  in  the  apartments  he  was 
sharing  with  Weston.     She  parted  as  gladly  from 

303 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

the  knowledge  of  liis  landlady  as  Marley  did  him- 
self, assuring  her  that  the  landlady  had  ^'not  de- 
creased any  in  value  as  a  zoo  exhibit  since  first  I 
rliapsodized  about  her."  Lavinia  felt  that  she  could 
disj:>ense  with  much  of  the  \vorry  her  womanly 
concern  for  his  comfort  had  given  her,  and  she 
turned  with  a  new  joy  to  the  books  he  was  con- 
stantly recommending. 

''Did  you  ever  read,"  he  wrote,  ^'Turgenieff's 
Fathers  and  Sons?  I  know  that  you  didn't  and 
therefore  I  know  what  a  treat  you  have  coming. 
I'll  send  you  the  book  if  you  can't  get  it  in  Maco- 
chee,  and  I  presume  you  can't.  Snider's  sign 
'Drugs  and  Books'  is  a  lure  to  deceive  an  unw^ary 
public  that  doesn't  care  as  much  for  books  as  it 
does  for  soda-w^ater;  and  the  stock  there,  as  I  re- 
call it,  consists  largely  of  forty-cent  editions  of 
books  on  which  the  copyright  has  expired,  and 
which,  printed  on  cheap,  pulp  paper,  are  to  be  in- 
troduced for  the  first  time  to  the  natives  of  Maco- 
chee.  I  wish  you  could  see  AVeston's  little  book-case, 
witiL  its  rows  of  his  favorites.  Besides  TurgeniefP 
and  Tolstoi — he  says  the  Russians  are  the  greatest 
novel  writers  the  world  has  yet  produced — ^he  has 

304 


A  UA'E  OF  LETTERS 

all  of  George  Eliot;  I  have  just  read  over  again 
Middlemarch  and  Daniel  Deronda,  He  likes 
Jane  Austen,  too,  and  he  says  you  would  like  her ; 
1  haven't  read  any  but  Emma  as  yet.  I'm  going  to 
read  them  all.  And  if  you  like,  you  can  read  the 
set  of  little  volumes  I  am  sending  you  to-day;  we 
can  read  them  thus  together.  And  Henry  James — 
do  read  him — Daisy  Miller  especially;  you  will 
like  that  Besides  these,  Weston  has  most  of  Ib- 
sen's plays,  and  sometimes  he  reads  parts  of  them 
aloud  to  me;  he  reads  them  well.  Some  day,  he 
says,  he's  going  to  write  a  play  himself ;  he  is  fond 
of  the  theater,  and  we  often  go.  One  of  the  fine 
things  about  being  on  a  newspaper  is  that  we  get 
theater  tickets,  though  we  can't  always  get  tickets 
to  the  theater  we  want.  Now  and  then  the  dramatic 
editor — a  fine  old  fellow  with  a  magnificent  shock 
of  white  hair,  who  may  be  seen  about  the  office  late 
at  night  looking  very  distingue  in  his  evening 
clothes — gets  Weston  to  write  a  criticism  on  soma 
play ;  and  often  the  literary  editor  lets  him  review 
books.  Weston  said  to-day  he'd  get  the  literary 
editor  to  let  me  review  some  books,  and  when  I 
told  him  I  didn't  know  how,  he  laughed  in  a 

305 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

strange  way  and  said  tbat  wouldn't  make  the 
slightest  difference.  There's  another  book  you  must 
read,  and  that  is  A  Modern  Instance,  The  chief 
character  is  Bartley  Hubbard,  a  newspaper  man. 
Weston  and  I  had  a  big  argument  about  the  char- 
acter to-day.  I  said  I  thought  it  was  a  libel  on  the 
newspaper  profession  and  Weston  laughed  and 
said  it  was  only  the  truth,  and  that  I'd  agree  with 
him  after  I'd  been  in  the  work  longer,  ^i^ewspaper 
work  isn't  a  profession  anyway,'  he  said,  ^but  a 
business.'  He  speaks  of  journalism — though  he 
won't  call  it  journalism,  nor  let  me — just  as  law- 
yers speak  of  the  law.  He  is  urging  me,  by  the 
way,  to  keep  up  my  law  studies,  and  I'm  thinking 
of  going  to  the  law  school  here,  if  I  find  I  can 
carry  it  on  with  my  other  work.  Weston  declares 
I  can;  he  says  a  man  has  to  carry  water  on  both 
shoulders  if  he  wants  to  amount  to  anything  in 
the  world — ^Wade  Powell  said  something  like  that 
to  me  once.  Weston  says  I'll  want  to  get  out  of 
newspaper  work  after  a  while.  He  disturbed  me 
a  little  to-day,  and  he  hurt  me,  too,  by  saying  that 
a  newspaper  man  has  no  business  to  be  married ; 
and  he  knows  all  about  you,  too.     Of  course,  he 

306 


A  MAN  OF  LETTEK& 

didn't  mean  to  hurt  me,  it's  merely  his  way  of 
looking  at  things." 

Happy  as  she  was,  Lavinia  still  had  to  have  her 
woman's  worries,  and  they  began  to  express  them- 
selves in  constant  adjuration  to  Marley  to  guard  his 
health ;  she  feared  the  effect  of  night  work,  and  she 
feared,  too,  that  he  could  not  carry  on  his  law 
studies  and  do  his  duty  as  a  reporter  at  the  same 
time.  She  sympathized  with  the  spirit  of  pride 
and  determination  which  made  him  wish  to  finish 
his  law  studies  and  be  admitted  to  the  bar,  but 
she  found  a  greater  satisfaction  in  thinking  of 
him  as  a  journalist  than  as  a  lawyer;  the  figure 
he  thus  presented  to  her  mind  was  so  much  more 
romantic  than  the  prosaic  one  of  a  lawyer  to  which 
she  had  been  all  her  life  accustomed;  on  a  large 
metropolitan  daily  he  was  almost  as  romantic  to  her 
as  an  army  ofiicer  or  a  naval  officer  would  have 
been.  And  while  she  did  not  like  the  night  work, 
and  had  her  fears  of  it  for  Marley,  she  neverthe- 
less felt  strongly  its  picturesque  quality. 

The  picture  Marley  drew  in  one  of  his  letters 
of  the  strange  shifting  of  the  scene  that  is  to  be 
observed  in  the  streets  of  a  great  city  as  darkness 

307 


TIIE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

falls,  when  those  that  work  in  the  prosaic  day  dis- 
appear and  in  their  places  appears  the  vast  and 
mysterious  army  of  the  toilers  by  nighty  many  of 
them  in  callings  demanding  the  cover  of  the  night, 
thrilled  her  strangely.  But  she  did  not  know 
how  from  all  the  temptations  of  the  irregular  life 
he  was  leading  he  was  saved,  partly  by  the  gentle 
friend  he  had  found  in  James  Weston,  but  more 
by  the  constant  thought  of  the  girl  whom  he  had 
left  behind  at  home. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HOME  AGAIN 

Marley,  after  a  year  or  more  in  Chicago,  found 
the  excitement  of  his  first  return  home  growing 
upon  him  as  he  looked  out  the  oar  window  and 
long  before  the  train  entered  the  borders  of  Gor- 
don County  he  eagerly  began  watching  for  fa- 
miliar things. 

In  the  spirit  of  holiday  which  had  come  in  this 
his  first  vacation,  he  had  felt  justified  in  taking  a 
chair  in  the  parlor  car,  though  from  the  associa- 
tions he  had  formed  in  his  newspaper  work  it  was 
more  difficult  now  for  him  to  resist  than  to  yield 
to  extravagances.  He  had  recalled  with  a  smile 
how  in  those  first  hard  days  in  the  freight  office 
he  had  joked  about  going  home  in  a  private  car, 
and  he  had  had  all  day  a  childish  pleasure  in  pre- 
tending that  the  empty  Pullman  was  a  private 

309 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

car;  he  could  almost  realize  such  a  distinction 
when  he  showed  the  conductor  the  pass  his  news- 
paper had  got  for  him. 

But  even  if  he  now  felt  glad  that  he  was  a  news- 
paper man  instead  of  a  railroad  man,  he  was  quite 
willing  to  return  to  Macochee  on  any  terms.  He 
had  tried  to  convince  himself  that  he  knew  the  very 
moment  the  train  swept  across  the  Indiana  line  into 
Ohio,  and  he  felt  a  fine  glow  of  state  pride. 
He  held  his  pride  somewhat  in  check  until  he  heard 
some  one  speak  a  name  that  he  recognized  as  that 
of  an  Ohio  town  and  then  he  boasted  to  the  porter : 

'Well,  I'm  back  in  my  own  state  again." 

The  porter,  though  ready  to  admit  that  Ohio  was 
a  pretty  good  old  state,  was  nevertheless  not  very 
responsive,  and  Marley  saw  that  he  would  have  to 
enjoy  his  sensations  all  alone. 

He  could  view  with  satisfaction  the  figure  of  a 
tolerably  well-dressed  city  man  reflected  in  the  long 
mirror  that  swayed  with  the  rushing  of  the  heavy 
coach.  He  knew  that  his  return  would  create  a 
sensation  in  Macochee,  though  he  was  resolved  to 
be  modest  about  it.  Even  if  he  was  not  returning 
to  Macochee  in  the  ceremony  he  had  dreamed  of, 

310 


HOME  AGAIN 

he  was  returning  in  a  way  that  was  distinguished 
enough  for  him  and  for  Macochee. 

He  was  eager  to  see  the  old  town;  he  tried  to 
imagine  his  return  in  its  proper  order  and  se- 
quence, first,  the  little  depot^  blistering  in  the  hot 
sun  of  the  August  afternoon,  the  rails  gleaming 
in  front  of  it,  and  the  air  above  them  trembling  in 
the  heat;  he  could  see  the  baggage  trucks  tilted 
up  on  the  platform ;  from  the  eating-house  came  the 
odor  of  boiled  ham  compromised  by  the  smell  of 
the  grease  frying  on  the  scorching  cinders  that 
were  heaped  about  the  ties ;  beyond  was  the  grain- 
elevator  that  once  appeared  so  monstrous  in  his 
eyes ;  across  the  tracks,  the  weed-grown  field ;  and 
tlie  only  living  things  in  sight  the  two  men  unload- 
ing agricultural  machines  from  a  box-car  aban- 
doned on  a  siding,  the  only  sound,  the  ticking  of  a 
telegraph  instrument;  the  target  was  set,  but  the 
station  officials  had  not  yet  appeared. 

Thence,  in  thought,  he  went  up  Miami  Street; 
he  saw  the  Court  House  and,  lounging  along  the 
stone  base  of  the  fence,  the  loafers  whom  no  one 
had  ever  seen  move,  but  who  yet  must  have  made 
some  sort  of  imperceptible  astronomical  progress, 

311 


THE  liAPP^  AVERAGE 

for  they  kept  always  just  in  the  shadow  of  the 
building;  tlien  the  old  law  office  across  the  way; 
tlicii  Main  Street,  with  its  crazy  signs,  its  awnings, 
and  the  horses  hitched  to  the  racks,  then  the  Square 
with  its  old  gabled  buildings,  the  monument  and 
the  cavalryman,  the  long  street  leading  to  his  own 
home,  and  at  last,  Ward  Street,  arched  by  its  cot- 
tonwoods, — and  he  recalled  his  unfinished  verses 
which  had  taken  Ward  Street  for  a  subject: 

"I  know  a  place  all  pastoral. 
Where    streams    in    winter   flow. 

And   where   down  from   the  cottonwoods 
There    falls    a    summer    snow." 

And  then,  at  la^t,  the  old  house  of  the  Blairs' 
wdth  its  cool  veranda,  its  dark  bricks,  its  broad 
overhanging  cornices,  and  Lavinia  standing  in  the 
doorway ! 

He  had  never  forgotten  the  anguish  of  his  part- 
ing that  night  in  spring,  and  he  had  looked  for- 
ward to  this  return  as  an  experience  that  would 
expiate  it,  and  restore  the  lost  balance  of  his  life. 
Eut  now  as  he  thought  of  his  life  in  Chicago,  of  the 
new  scenes  and  associations,  it  came  to  him  that 
that  night  after  all  had  been  final ;  the  youth  w^ho 
had  then  gone  forth  had  indeed  gone  forth  never 

312 


HOME  AGAIN 

to  return;  another  being  was  coming  back  in  hia 
stead.  He  had  been  successful  in  a  way  which  at 
first  flattered  his  pride,  but  a  new  sense  of  propor- 
tion had  been  growing  in  him  that  had  lately  made 
him  mistrust  newspaper  work ;  he  had  for  it  a  dis- 
like almost  as  definite  as  that  which  used  to  dis- 
please him  in  Weston.  He  wag  growing  tired  of  hig 
life  as  a  reporter;  it  had  so  many  irregularities, 
so  many  hardships;  it  detached  him  from  whole- 
some, e very-day  existence.  He  longed  for  some  call- 
ing more  definite,  more  permanent,  a  work  in 
which  he  might  do  things,  instead  of  record  them 
in  an  ephemeral  way.  He  had  for  a  while  been  en- 
vious of  Weston's  progress  in  his  literary  efforts, 
and  for  a  while  he  had  emulated  him,  but  he  had 
not  been  long  in  recognizing  that  he  lacked  literary 
talent 

Out  of  thig  dissatisfaction  with  himself  he  had 
lately  gone  in  earnestly  to  complete  his  law  studies^ 
which  all  along  he  had  pursued  in  a  desultory 
fashion.  He  found  some  consolation  in  the  hope 
that  he  might  be  admitted  to  the  bar  in  the  fall, 
though  how  or  when  he  was  to  get  into  a  practice 
was  still  as  much  of  a  problem  as  it  had  been  in  the 

313 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

old  days  in  Macochee.  He  clung  steadfastly,  how- 
ever, to  the  feeling  that  his  newspaper  work  was 
but  a  makeshift;  Weston  and  he  had  constantly 
supported  each  other  in  this  view — it  was  their 
one  hope. 

With  thoughts  somewhat  like  these  Marley  had 
been  whiling  away  the  hours  of  his  long  day's 
journey  from  Chicago  to  Macochee.  He  had  read 
thoroughly,  and  with  a  professionally  critical 
faculty,  all  the  Chicago  papers,  and  had  long  ago 
thrown  them  aside  in  a  disorderly  pile.  ISTow  he 
had  the  tired  sense  that  his  journey  was  nearing  its 
end. 

At  last  he  saw  the  old  mill-pond,  and  his  heart 
leaped  in  affection;  then  he  got  his  umbrella  and 
sticks,  took  off  his  traveling  cap  and  put  it  in  his 
bag.  He  stood  up  for  the  porter  to  brush  him  off, 
and  when  he  had  selected  a  half-dollar  as  a  tip,  he 
asked  the  porter  to  get  his  luggage  together,  and 
in  a  conscious  affectation  he  could  not  forego,  be- 
gan to  pull  on  his  new  gloves.  They  were  nearing 
Macochee  now;  and  suddenly  the  tears  started  to 
his  eyes,  as  in  a  flash  he  saw  his  white-haired 
father  standing  on  the  platform,  anxiously  craning 

314 


HOME  AGAIK 

his  neck  for  a  first  glimpse  of  the  boy  who  was 
coming  home. 

Marley's  mother  did  not  reproach  him  when  he 
ate  a  hurried  supper  that  evening  and  then  set 
off  immediately  for  Lavinia^s.  He  renewed 
some  of  the  emotions  of  the  earlier  days  of  his 
courtship  as  the  familiar  houses  along  the  way 
gradually  presented  themselves  to  his  recognition; 
he  was  glad  to  note  the  changeless  aspect  of  a  town 
that  never  now  could  change,  at  least  in  the  way  of 
progress,  and  he  discovered  a  novel  satisfaction — 
one  of  the  many  experiences  that  were  so  rapidly 
crowding  in  with  his  impressions — in  the  feeling 
that  here,  at  least,  in  Macochee,  things  would  re- 
main as  they  were,  and  defy  that  inexorable  law  of 
change  which  makes  so  many  tragedies  in  life.  La- 
vinia  must  have  recognized  his  step,  for  there  she 
was,  standing  in  the  doorway,  a  smile  on  her  face, 
and  her  eyelashes  somehow  moist.  Marley  felt 
a  strange  discomposure;  there  was  a  little  effort, 
the  intimacy  of  their  letters  must  now  give  way  to 
the  intimacy  of  personal  contact.  But  in  another 
second  she  was  in  his  arms,  and  her  face  was  hid- 
den against  his  breast. 

"At  last,"  she  said,  "you're  here!" 

315 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

He  felt  her  tremble,  and  he  held  her  more 
closely.  When  he  released  her  she  put  her  hands  up 
to  his  shoulders  and  held  him  away  from  her, 
while  she  scanned  him  criticallj. 

"YouVe  grown  broader/'  she  said,  "and  heavier, 
and — oh,  so  much  handsomer !" 

The  Blairs  filed  in  presently,  and  Marley  had 
the  curious  sense  of  this  very  scene  having  been 
enacted  in  his  presence  before,  but  it  lacked  the 
usual  baffling  effect  of  this  psychological  expe- 
rience, for  he  was  able  to  recall,  in  an  incandescent 
flash  of  memory,  that  it  was  almost  a  repetition  of 
their  good-bys  that  night  when  he  had  gone  away ; 
Mrs.  Blair  was  as  tender,  and  if  Connie  and  Chad 
.were  a  little  shy  of  his  new  importance,  Judge  Blair 
was  as  dignified,  and  as  anxious  as  ever  to  get  back 
to  his  reading.  Marley  felt  once  more  that  perma- 
nence of  things  in  Macochee;  this  household  had 
remained  the  same,  and  it  made  him  feel  more  than 
ever  the  change  that  had  occurred  in  him. 

In  lovers'  intense  subjectivity,  he  and  Lavinia 
discussed  this  change  seriously.  They  reviewed 
their  old  dreams,  and  now  they  could  laugh  at 
their  defeated  wish  to  live^  even  in  an  humble 
way,  in  Maoochee. 

316 


HOME  AGAIN 

"It  was  funny,  wasn't  it?"  said  Marley.  "I 
was  very  young  then, — nothing,  in  fact,  but  a  kid." 

"Are  you  so  very  much  older  now?"  asked 
Lavinia  with  a  slight  hint  of  teasing  in  her  tender 
voice. 

"Well,"  Marley  replied,  with  a  seriousness  that 
impressed  him,  at  least,  as  the  ripe  wisdom  of 
maturity,  "I  am  not  much  older  in  years,  but  I  am 
in  experience,  and  in  knowledge  of  life.  You  see, 
dear,  you  can  measure  time  by  the  calendar,  but 
you  can't  measure  life  that  way.  And  Weston  says 
that  there  is  no  calling  that  will  give  a  man  expe- 
rience so  quickly  as  newspaper  work.  You  know 
we  see  everything,  and  we  get  a  smattering  of  all 
kinds  of  knowledge.  Weston  says  that  is  all  that 
reconciles  him  to  the  business ;  he  says  a  man  learns 
more  there  than  he  ever  does  in  college.  He  con- 
siders the  training  invaluable ;  he  says  it  will  be  of 
great  help  to  him  in  literature,  if  he  can  ever  get 
into  literature — ^he  isn't  sure  yet  that  he  can.  He 
can  tell  better  after  his  book  is  published.  And  he 
says  a  newspaper  experience  will  help  me  in  the 
law,  too,  that  is,"  Marley  added,  with  a  whimsical 


317 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

imitation  of  Weston's  despairing  uncertainty,  "if 
I  can  ever  get  into  tlie  law." 

"You  think  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Weston,  don't 
you  ?"  said  Lavinia. 

"He's  the  finest  fellow  in  the  world,  and  the 
best  friend  I  ever  had." 

Marley  had  a  curious  intuition  that  Lavinia 
was  a  little  jealous  of  Weston.  He  immediately 
sought  to  allay  the  feeling  with  this  argument : 

"You  see,  when  a  man  does  all  for  a  fellow  that 
Jim  has  done  for  me,  and  when  you  have  lived 
with  him,  and  shared  your  haversack  with  him, 
and  he  with  you,  like  two  soldier  comrades,  you 
get  right  down  to  the  bottom  of  him.  And  I  want 
you  to  know  him,  dear,  I  know  you'll  like  him." 

Lavinia  was  silent,  and  Marley  had  a  fear  that 
she  might  not  accept  Weston  quite  so  readily. 

"He  has  done  me  a  world  of  good,"  he  went  on. 
"He  has  taught  me  much,  he  has  corrected  my  reck- 
oning in  more  ways  than  one.  He  has  taught  me 
much  about  books ;  and  he  has  taught  me  to  look 
sanely  on  a  life  that  isn't,  he  says,  always  truth- 
fully reflected  in  books.  And  besides  all,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  him^  if  he  had  not  kept  me  at  it    and 

318 


HOME  AGAIK 

urged  me  on,  I  think  I  should  have  been  doomed 
for  ever  to  remain  a  poor  newspaper  man." 

"Don't  you  like  newspaper  work?"  she  asked 
with  a  shade  of  disappointment  in  her  tone. 

"I  did,  but  I  like  it  less  every  day.  It's  a  hard 
and  unsatisfactory  life,  and  it  has  no  promise  in  it. 
A  man  very  soon  reaches  its  highest  point,  and 
then  he  must  be  content  to  stay  there.  It's  the 
easiest  thing  for  a  young  fellow  to  get  a  start  in, 
if  he's  bright;  I  suppose  I'm  making  more  money 
than  any  of  the  young  lawyers  in  Chicago ;  but  be- 
cause it  is  so  easy  is  the  very  reason  why  it  is 
hardly  worth  while.  Things  that  are  easily  won 
are  not  worth  striving  for." 

*'And  you're  going  to  get  out  of  it  ?" 

"Yes,  as  soon  as  I  can.  As  soon  as  I  can,  I'm 
going  to  get  into  the  law.  When  Weston  first  be- 
gan urging  me  to  keep  up  my  studies,  and  when 
finally  he  made  me  go  to  the  night  law  school,  I 
consented  chiefly  because  I  had  always  felt  the 
chagrin  of  defeat  in  having  been  compelled  to  give 
it  up;  lately,  I've  begun  to  see  things  differently, 
and  I've  determined  to  carry  out  my  first  inten- 
tion and  get  into  the  law  somehow.     Of  course, 

319 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

it's  going  to  be  hard.  And  one  has  to  have  a  pull 
there  as  everywhere  else  in  these  days." 

Marlej  was  silent  for  a  moment  and,  Lavinia 
thought,  a  little  depressed.  She  watched  him  sym- 
pathetically, and  yet  she  was  a  little  troubled  by 
a  sense  of  detachment  She  felt  that  Weston  was 
now  more  closely  associated  with  Marley's  strug- 
gle than  she,  and  she  was  disturbed,  too,  by  the  dis- 
appointment of  finding  that  his  struggles  were  not 
at  all  ended. 

"Weston  says,"  Marley  went  on  presently,  "that 
newspaper  work  is  a  good  stepping-stone,  and  by  it 
I  may  be  able  to  arrange  for  some  place  in  the 
law  which  will  give  me  the  start  I  want" 

"I  thought  you  liked  your  work,"  Lavinia  said ; 
"I  thought  you  were  happy  in  it" 

Marley  detected  her  regret,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  speaking,  when  Lavinia  went  on; 

"I  don't  see  why  you  can't  go  into  literature  as 
well  as  Mr.  Weston." 

Marley  laughed. 

"The  reason  is  that  I  haven't  his  talent,"  he 
said. 

"I  don't  see  why,"  Lavinia  argued  with  some  re- 

320 


HOME  AGAIN 

sentment  of  his  huinility.  'TTou  haven't  enough 
confidence  in  jour  own  powers;  you  let  Mr.  Wes- 
ton dominate  jou  too  much." 

"E'ow,  dearest/'  he  pleaded,  "you  mustn't  do 
Jim  that  injustice.  He  doesn't  dominate  me;  but 
he  is  so  much  wiser  than  I,  he  knows  so  much 
more.   You  will  understand  when  you  meet  him." 

"Well,"  she  tentatively  admitted,  "that  is  no 
reason  why  you  shouldn't  in  time  be  a  literary  man 
as  well  as  he.     Why  can't  you  ?" 

"Because  I  can't  write,  that's  why." 

"Why,  Glenn,  how  can  you  say  that  ?  Your  let- 
ters disprove  that.  Every  one  who  read  them  said 
that  they  were  remarkable,  and  that  you  should  go 
into  literature.  They  said  you  had  such  good  de- 
scriptive powers." 

Marley  was  looking  at  her  in  amazement. 

"Why,  Lavinia,  you  didn't  show  them !" 

*'You  simpleton !"  she  said,  with  a  smile  in  her 
eyes,  "of  course  not;  but  I  have  read  parts  of 
them  to  mama  and  to  your  mother  now  and  then." 

"Oh,  well,  that's  all  right,"  sighed  Marley  in 
relief,  and  then  he  resumed  his  defense  of  Weston 
and  his  analysis  of  himself. 

321 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

"Of  course,  I  suppose  I  can  write  a  fairly  good 
newspaper  story;  at  least  they  say  so  at  the  office/^ 
He  indulged  a  little  look  of  pride,  and  then  he 
went  on:     "But  that  isn't  literature." 

"I  don't  see  why  it  isn't,"  she  said.  "I  sHould 
think  it  would  be  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  to  go  from  one  into  the  other." 

"]N"ot  at  all.  Literature  requires  style,  per- 
sonality, distinction,  and  the  artistic  tempera- 
ment" 

"I'd  say  you  were  talking  now  like  George 
Halliday  if  I  didn't  know  you  were  talking  like 
Mr.  Weston." 

"I  wish  you  could  hear  Weston  talk  about  lit- 
erature," he  said.     "He'd  convince  you." 

"He  couldn't  convince  me  that  ho  can  write  any 
better  than  you  can."  Lavinia  compressed  her 
lips  in  a  defiant  loyalty. 

Marley  paused  to  kiss  the  lips  for  their  loyalty, 
and  he  compromised  tlie  validity  of  his  own  argu- 
ment by  saying: 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  law,  in  America  and 
in  England,  has  given  more  men  to  literature 
than  journalism  ever  has." 

322 


HOME  AGAIN 

"Then  maybe  you  can  enter  literature  through 
the  law,"  said  Lavinia,  seizing  her  advantage. 

"!N"o,"  said  Marley,  shaking  his  head.  "Fm 
not  cut  out  for  it,  as  Weston  is.  Some  day  he 
will  be  a  great  man,  and  we  shall  be  proud  to 
have  known  him  so  intimately.  And  we  will  have 
him  at  our  home;  I  have  many  a  dream  about 
that." 

He  looked  fondly  at  her,  and  her  eyes  brightened. 

"And  there  is  another  reason  why  I  want  to  get 
out  of  newspaper  work,"  he  went  on,  speaking  ten- 
derly, "and  that  is  because  everybody  says  a  news- 
paper man  has  no  more  right  to  be  married  than 
a  soldier  has." 

"But  they  all  are,"  said  Lavinia. 

"Yes,  they  all  are,  or  most  of  them." 

"And  I  suppose  it  is  the  married  ones  who  say 
that"  . 

"Well,  I  know  one  who  is  going  to  be  married 
just  as  soon  as  he  can." 

"Who  is  that,— Mr.  Weston  ?" 

''Ko,  but  Mr.  Weston  knows  him,  and  knows  his 
intentions,  and  he  has  promised  to  be  at  the  wed- 
ding and  act  as  best  man." 

323 


THE  HAPPY  AYEEAGE 

"OH,  it  would  be  fine  to  have  a  literary  man  at 
the  wedding,  wouldn't  it  ?" 

They  talked  then  about  the  wedding,  and  they 
found  all  their  old  delicious  joy  in  it  Marley 
said  it  must  be  soon  now,  though  with  a  pang  that 
laid  a  weight  on  his  heart,  he  wondered,  as  he 
thought  of  all  the  extravagances  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  drift  into,  where  he  was  to  get  the 
money.  He  could  reassure  himself  only  by  telling 
himseK  that  he  was  going  to  live  as  an  anchorite 
when  he  got  back  to  Chicago;  even  if  he  had  to 
give  up  the  pleasant  apartment  with  Weston  and 
go  back  to  the  boarding-house  in  Ohio  Street. 

"How  shall  you  like  living  in  Chicago?"  he 
asked.  "Can  you  be  happy  in  a  little  flat,  with- 
out knowing  anybody,  and  without  being  any- 
body?" 

"I  shall  be  happy  anywhere  with  you,  Glenn!'* 
she  said,  looking  confidently  into  his  eyes. 


324 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

ILLUSIONS  AND  DISILLUSIONS 

It  -was  a  pleasure  to  Marlej  to  accept  the  hom- 
age the  people  paid  him;  they  confounded  his 
success  in  journalism  with  a  success  in  liter aturei, 
and  under  the  impression  that  all  writers  are  some- 
how witty,  they  laughed  extravagantly  at  his  light- 
est observation. 

But  much  as  Marley  relished  all  this,  much  as 
he  enjoyed  being  at  home  again,  with  Lavinia  and 
with  his  father  and  mother,  he  was  disturbed  by 
a  certain  restlessness  that  came  over  him  after 
he  had  been  in  Macochee  a  few  days  and  the  novelty 
and  excitement  of  his  return  had  worn  off.  The 
glamour  the  town  had  worn  for  him  had  left  it; 
it  seemed  to  have  withered  and  shrunk  away.  He 
could  no  longer,  by  any  effort  of  the  imagination, 
realize  it  as  the  place  he  had  carried  affectionately 

325 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

in  his  heart  during  the  long  months  of  his  absence ; 
its  interests  were  so  few  and  so  petty,  and  he  found 
himself  battling  with  a  wish  to  get  away.  He  was 
fearful  of  this  feeling;  he  did  not  dare  to  own 
it  to  himself,  much  less  to  his  father  and  mother 
or  to  Lavinia. 

He  was  glad  that  Lavinia  would  not  let  him 
mention  going  back  to  Chicago,  and  as  the  days 
swept  by  with  the  swiftness  of  vacation  time,  he 
was  troubled  that  he  did  not  feel  more  acutely  the 
sorrow  he  felt  would  best  become  the  prospect  of 
another  separation.  He  was  comforted,  finally, 
when  he  was  able  to  analyze  his  sensations  suffi- 
ciently to  discover  that  it  was  neither  his  sweet- 
heart nor  his  parents  that  had  changed,  but  his  own 
attitude  toward  life  in  a  small  town ;  he  was  vastly 
relieved  when  he  succeeded  in  separating  his  feel- 
ings and  saw  that  it  was  Macochee  alone  that  he 
had  lost  his  affection  for,  though  he  could  not 
analyze  his  sensations  deeply  enough  to  recog- 
nize himself  as  at  that  period  of  life  when  external 
conditions  are  accepted  for  more  than  their  real 
value;  he  was  still  too  young  for  that.  And  so  he 
could  spend  his  days  happily  with  Lavinia  and 

326 


ILLUSIONS  ANB  DISILLUSIOiNS 

grudge  tlie  moments  which.  Lawrence  and  Mayme 
Carter  filched  from  them  by  their  calls,  and  he  was 
as  resentful  of  Mayme's  invitation  to  the  supper 
which  she  exalted  into  a  dinner  with  a  reception 
afterward,  as  was  Lavinia  herself. 

When  Marley  went  to  pay  his  call  on  Wade 
Powell,  he  found  many  sensations  as  he  glanced 
about  the  dingy  little  office  where  he  had  begun  his 
studies.  Wade  Powell  himself,  smoking  and  read- 
ing his  Cincinnati  paper,  was  sitting  at  his  old 
desk,  with  the  same  aspect  of  permanence  he  had 
always  given  the  impression  of.  Marley  rushed  in 
on  him  with  a  face  red  and  smiling  and  when 
Powell  looked  up,  he  threw  down  his  paper,  and 
leaped  to  his  feet,  saying: 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!" 

But  when  their  first  greetings  were  over,  Pow- 
ell's manner  changed ;  he  began  to  show  Marley  a 
certain  respect,  and  he  paid  him  the  delicate  trib- 
ute of  letting  him  do  most  of  the  talking,  whereas 
he  used  to  do  most  of  the  talking  himself.  He  was 
not  prepared  to  hear  that  Marley  was  still  studying 
law ;  and  it  cost  him  an  effort  to  readjust  his  con- 
ception of  Marley  as  a  successful  journalist  to  the 

327 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

old  one  of  a  straggling  student.  He  gave  Marley 
some  intelligence  of  this,  and  of  his  disappointment 
when  he  said  with  a  meekness  Marley  did  not  like 
to  see  in  him: 

"Well,  of  course,  you  know  your  own  business 
best" 

But  when  Marley  had  taken  pains  to  explain  his 
position  and  when  he  had  described  the  Chicago 
law  offices,  Powell  grew  more  reconciled. 

"I've  watched  you,"  he  said,  "Fve  watched  you, 
and  I've  asked  your  father  about  you  every  time 
I've  seen  him;  my  one  regret  was  that  you  were 
not  working  on  a  Cincinnati  paper;  then  I  could 
have  read  what  you  were  writing.  I  did  try  to  get 
a  Chicago  paper — but  you  know  what  this  town  is^'' 

Powell  was  deeply  interested  in  Marley^s  de- 
scription of  his  old  friend,  Judge  Johnson,  and 
as  Marley  gave  him  some  notion  of  the  judge's 
importance  and  prosperity  Powell  could  only  ex- 
claim from  time  to  time: 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!" 

Marley  did  not  tell  Powell  that  Judge  Johnson 
had  appeared  to  have  forgotten  him;  he  felt  that 
it  would  be  more  handsome  to  accept  the  moral  re- 

328 


ILLUSIONS  AND  DISILLUSIONS 

sponsibility  of  a  prevarication  than  to  hurt  PowelFs 
feelings  in  the  way  he  knew  the  truth  would  hurt 
them.  Even  as  it  was,  Judge  Johnson's  success, 
now  so  keenly  realized  by  Powell  when  it  had 
been  brought  home  to  him  in  this  personal  way, 
seemed  to  subdue  him,  and  he  was  only  lifted  out 
of  his  gloom  when  Marley  said : 

"But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  there  isn't  a  lawyer 
in  Chicago  who  can  try  a  case  with  you." 

Powell's  eye  brightened  and  his  face  glowed  a 
deeper  red ;  then  the  look  died  away  as  he  said : 

"Well,  I  made  a  mistake.  I  ought  to  have  gone 
there." 

"Is  it  too  late?" 

Powell  thought  a  moment,  and  Marley  regretted 
having  tempted  him  with  an  impossibility.  He 
was  relieved  when  Powell  shook  his  head  and  said: 

"Yes,  it's  too  late  now." 

Powell,  with  something  of  the  pathos  of  age 
and  failure  that  was  stealing  gradually  over  him, 
begged  Marley  to  come  in  and  see  him  every  day 
while  he  was  at  home. 

"You  see  I've  always  kept  your  desk,"  he  said, 
in  a  tone  that  apologized  for  a  weakness  he  per- 

329 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

haps  thought  unmanly,  "just  as  it  was  when  you 
went  away." 

Marley  thought  cynically  that  Powell  had  kept 
everything  else  just  as  it  was  when  he  went  away, 
hut  he  was  instantly  ashamed  of  the  thought,  and 
ashamed,  too,  of  the  fact  that  he  and  Lavinia  both 
considered  even  this  little  morning  call  a  waste  of 
time,  and  a  sacrifice  almost  too  great  to  be  borne. 

Powell  went  with  Marley  out  into  the  street, 
and  it  gave  him  evident  pride  to  walk  by  his  side 
down  Main  Street  and  around  the  Square. 

"I  want  them  all  to  see  you,"  he  said  frankly. 

He  made  Marley  go  with  him  to  the  McBriar 
House  and  then  to  Con's  Comer,  and,  in  every 
place  where  men  stopped  him  and  shook  Marley's 
hand  and  asked  him  how  he  was  getting  along, 
Powell  took  the  responsibility  of  replying  prompt- 

ly: 

"Look  at  him;  how  does  he  seem  to  be  getting 
along?" 

Powell  found  a  delight  that  must  have  been 
keener  than  Marley's  in  Marley's  fidelity  to  Chi- 
cago, expressed  quite  in  the  boastful  frankness 
of  the  citizens  of  that  city  when  abroad,  though  to 

330 


ILLUSIONS  AND  DISILLUSIONS 

Marley  it  seemed  tliat  he  was  putting  it  on  them  by 
doing  so.  He  found  them  all,  however,  in  a  spirit 
of  loyalty  to  Macochee  that  might  easily  have 
become  combative. 

"Well,  little  old  Macochee's  good  enough  for  us, 
eh.  Wade  ?"  they  would  say. 

Marley  would  not  let  them  be  ahead  of  him  in 
praise  of  Macochee,  and  Powell  himself  softened 
enough  to  admit  that  old  Ohio  was  a  pretty  good 
place  to  have  come  from. 

When  they  suddenly  encountered  Carman  in  the 
street,  Marley  flushed  with  confusion,  first  for 
himself  and  then  vicariously  for  Powell.  But 
there  was  no  escape  from  a  situation  that  no  doubt 
exaggerated  itself  to  his  sensitiveness,  and  he  was 
soon  allowing  Carman  to  hold  his  hand  in  his 
right  palm  while  with  the  other  Carman  solici- 
tously held  Marley's  left  elbow,  and  transfixed  him 
with  that  left  eye  which  still  refused  to  react  to 
light  and  shade. 

"Well,  how  are  you?"  asked  Carman.  "How 
are  you,  anyway  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right.'' 


331 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 
"Guess  you're  glad  now  I  didn't  give  you  that 

job,  eh  r 

Marley  could  not  look  at  Powell,  but  he  hastened 
to  say: 

'^es,rm  glad,  now." 

"Maybe  it  was  for  the  best,"  said  Carman. 

When  they  had  left  him  Marley  quickly  and 
crudely  tried  to  change  the  subject,  but  Powell 
insisted  on  saying: 

"I  want  you  to  know  that  I've  always  felt  like 
a  dog  over  that," 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it,"  Marley  begged.  "I 
was  honest  when  I  told  Carman  I  was  glad  it 
turned  out  as  it  did." 

"Yes,"  said  Powell,  "I  guess  it  was  all  for  the 
best" 

To  Marle/s  relief  they  dropped  the  matter  then, 
and  went  over  to  Con's  Comer.  There  Powell 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  Marley  could  not  resist  ask- 
ing for  a  brand  of  cigarettes,  the  kind  that  Weston 
smoked,  though  he  knew  that  Con  would  not  have 
them.  He  felt  mean  about  it  afterward,  but  he 
could  not  forego  some  of  the  petty  distinctions  of 
living  in  a  city  and  he  indulged  a  little  revenge 


ILLUSIOE^S  AND  DISILLUSIOI^TS 

toward  the  people  who  had  deserted  him  in  what 
had  seemed  to  him  his  need,  and  now,  in  what 
seemed  to  them  his  prosperity,  were  so  ready  to 
rally  to  him.  Marley  went  home  at  noon  feeling 
that  his  triumph  had  been  almost  as  great  as  if 
he  had  come  home  in  a  private  car. 

His  triumph  soon  was  at  an  end;  they  came  to 
the  afternoon  of  the  day  when  Marley  was  to  re- 
turn to  Chicago.  It  was  a  golden  day,  with  a  sun 
shining  out  of  a  sky  without  clouds,  and  yet  a 
delicious  breeze  blew  out  of  the  little  hills.  Mar- 
ley and  Lavinia  walked  out  the  white  and  dusty 
pike  that  made  the  road  to  Mingo.  They  walked 
slowly  along  the  edge  of  the  road,  in  silence, 
under  the  sadness  of  the  parting  that  was  before 
them.  They  longed  ineffably  that  the  moments 
might  be  stayed ;  somehow  they  felt  they  might  be 
stayed  by  their  silence. 

But  when  they  had  ascended  the  hill  and  stood 
beside  the  old  oak-tree  which  grew  by  the  road, 
they  looked  out  across  the  valley  of  the  Mad  River, 
miles  and  miles  away — across  fields  now  golden 
with  the  wheat,  or  green  with  the  rustling  corn 
that  glinted  in  the  sun,  off  and  away  to  the  trees 

333 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

that  became  vague  and  dim  in  the  hazy  distance. 
Eack  whence  they  had  come  lay  Macochee;  they 
could  see  the  tower  of  the  Court  House,  the  red 
spire  of  the  Methodist  church,  the  gleam  of  the  sun 
on  some  great  window  in  the  roof  of  the  car-shops ; 
on  the  other  side  of  town  crawled  a  train,  trailing 
its  smoke  behind  it  Marley  looked  at  Lavinia — 
she  was  leaning  against  the  tree,  and  as  he  looked 
he  saw  that  her  blue  eyes  were  filling  slowly  with 
tears. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful !"  he  said,  looking  away  from 
her  to  the  simple  scenery  of  Ohio. 
"Do  you  remember  that  day?" 
"When  we  picked  out  our  farm — ^where  was  it  ?" 
"Wasn't  it  over  there  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "We  could  come  and  live  here 
when  we  are  old."  He  knew  he  was  but  seeking  to 
console  himself  for  what  now  could  not  be. 
"And  there  is  the  old  town,"  he  said.  '^It  looks 
beautiful  from  here,  nestling  among  those  trees, 
it  seems  peaceful,  and  calm,  and  simple.  But  it  is 
different  when  you  are  in  it;  for  there  are  gossip 
and  envy  and  spite,  and  I  can  never  quite  forgive 
it  because  it  had  no  place  for  ma    Well,"  he  went 

334 


ILLUSIOJSTS  AND  DISILLUSION'S 

on  defiantly,  in  the  relief  he  had  been  able  to  make 
for  himself  out  of  his  immature  reading  of  Maco- 
chee's  character;  "I  don't  need  it  any  more;  it  is 
little  and  narrow  and  provincial,  and  the  real  life 
is  to  be  lived  out  in  the  larger  world.  It's  a  hard 
fight,  but  it's  worth  it" 

"Don't  you  regret  leaving  it?"  asked  Lavinia, 
in  a  voice  that  was  tenderer  than  Marley  had  ever 
knovm  it.  Marley  looked  at  Macochee  and  then  he 
looked  at  her. 

"I  regret  leaving  it,  dear  heart,  because  I  must 
leave  you  behind  in  it" 

"Would  you  never  care  to  come  back  if  it  were 
not  for  me  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  might,"  he  admitted,  "when  we  are  old.  We 
could  come  back  here  then  and  settle  down  on  our 
farm  over  there."     He  pointed. 

"I'm  haK-afraid  of  the  city,"  Lavinia  said. 

He  turned  and  took  her  in  his  arms* 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  "you  must  not  say  that; 
for  the  next  time  I  come  it  will  be  to  take  you 
away  from  Macochee." 

"Will  it?"  she  whispered. 


33S 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

"Yes;  and  it  can't  be  long  now.    How  we  have 
had  to  wait!" 

"Yes,"  she  repeated,  "how  we  have  had  to  wait!" 


336 


CHAPTEE  XXXII 

AT   LAST 

Marley,  in  that  compensatory  pleasure  we 
find  in  difficulties  in  the  retrospect,  was  after- 
ward fond  of  sajing  that  if  lie  had  waited  until 
he  had  the  money  and  the  position  to  warrant 
his  marrying,  he  never  would  have  married  at 
all. 

Just  what  moved  him  to  take  the  decisive  step 
he  did  he  would  have  found  it  hard  to  tell.  He 
had  grown  accustomed  to  the  life  he  was  living  in 
Chicago,  he  had  succumbed,  as  it  were,  to  his  en- 
vironment; he  no  longer  regretted  Macochee  and 
he  found  a  satisfaction  in  declaring,  whenever  he 
had  the  chance,  that  the  kindest  thing  the  town  had 
ever  done  for  him  was  to  refuse  him  a  place  within 
its  borders.  As  he  looked  back  at  all  the  plans  he 
had  formed,  he  marveled  at  their  number,  but  he 

337 


THE  HAPPY  AVERAGE 

marveled  more  that  he  should  have  had  such  re- 
gret in  the  failure  of  all  of  them;  he  was  glad 
now  that  they  had  failed ;  had  any  one  of  them  suc- 
ceeded his  life  would  have  been  diverted  into  other 
channels,  and  it  gave  him  a  kind  of  fear  when  lie 
tried  to  imagine  his  life  in  those  other  channels; 
he  could  see  himself  in  those  relations  only  as  some 
other  identity,  and  it  gave  him  a  gruesome  feeling 
to  do  this. 

"Not  that  he  was  satisfied  with  himself  or  his 
surroundings ;  he  did  not  like  newspaper  work,  and 
he  did  not  like  Chicago  very  well.  He  was  deter- 
mined to  get  out  of  newspaper  work  at  any  rate, 
and  while  he  could  not  yet  clearly  see  a  way  of  get- 
ting into  the  law,  he  had  a  calm  assurance  that  he 
would  do  it,  in  the  end.  Weston  sustained  him  in 
this  hope  by  saying : 

"A  man  can't  control  circumstances ;  they  control 
him;  but  sometimes  ho  can  dodge  them,  and, 
after  all,  every  sincere  prayer  is  answered." 

During  the  winter  that  followed  the  summer 
when  he  had  paid  his  visit  to  his  home  he  worked 
hard  at  the  law,  spending  in  study  the  hours  the 
other  men  on  his  newspaper  spent  in  their  dissi- 

338 


AT  LAST 

pations,  and  in  tlie  spring  lie  stole  awaj  almost 
secretly  to  Springfield,  took  the  examination,  and 
was  admitted  to  the  bar. 

After  it  was  done,  it  seemed  but  a  little  thing; 
he  wrote  Lavinia  and  he  wrote  Wade  Powell,  know- 
ing the  interest  Powell  would  have  in  the  fact,  that 
he  felt  no  different  now  as  a  lawyer  than  he  had 
when  he  was  merely  a  layman.  Weston  had  spent 
the  winter  over  the  book  he  was  writing;  in  the 
spring  he  found  a  publisher,  and  The  Clutch  of 
Circumstance  was  given  to  the  world.  Marley 
thought  it  a  wonderful  book,  and  so  did  Lavinia, 
and  while  it  made  but  little  noise  in  the  world, 
Weston  said  it  had  done  better  than  he  expected — 
so  well,  in  fact,  that  he  was  going  to  give  up  news- 
paper work,  and  give  his  attention  wholly  to  writ- 
ing another  book. 

It  was  a  shock  to  Marley  when  Weston  told  him 
they  would  have  to  give  up  their  apartment;  it  was 
a  break  in  the  life  to  which  he  had  grown  accus- 
tomed. But  it  seemed  a  time  of  change,  and  it 
was  then  he  wrote  Lavinia  that  he  thought  it  useless 
for  them  to  wait  any  longer ;  he  thought  they  might 
as  well  be  married  then  as  at  any  time. 

339 


THE  HAPPY  AYEKAGE 

Unconsciously,  perhaps,  he  wrote  this  letter  as  if 
he  and  not  she  had  been  waiting,  and  if  he  had 
known  the  state  of  the  sensitive  public  opinion  in 
Macochee,  he  might  have  felt  himself  justified  in 
the  attitude.  Ever  since  his  visit  there  the  summer 
before  his  apparent  prosperity  had  given  the  sen- 
timent of  the  town  an  impetus  in  his  favor;  the 
people  had  turned  their  criticism  toward  Lavinia ; 
for  months  it  was  a  common  expression  that  it  was 
a  shame  she  was  keeping  Marlej  waiting  so  long. 
They  would  nod  in  a  sinister  way,  and  insinuate 
the  worldliest  of  motives ;  it  was  generally  under- 
stood that  she  was  waiting  for  Marley  to  make  a 
fortune,  and  this,  they  held,  was  demanding  too 
much.  She  had  withdrawn  utterly  from  the  so- 
ciety of  Macochee;  and  she  had  not  gone  to  one 
of  the  balls  Lawrence  had  arranged  that  winter  at 
the  Odd  Eellows'  Hall;  her  position,  outwardly 
at  least,  was  as  isolated  as  that  of  the  Misses  Cra- 
mer, the  fragile  and  transparent  old  maids  who 
lived  so  many  years  in  their  house  sheltered  by  the 
row  of  cedars  behind  the  High  School  grounds. 

When  Judge  Blair  received  the  formal  letter  in 
which  Marley  told  him  he  had  asked  Lavinia  to 

340 


AT  LAST 

name  the  day  and  requested  his  approval,  the  judge 
gave  his  consent  with  a  promptness  that  surprised 
him  almost  as  much  as  it  did  Mrs.  Blair  and  La- 
vinia.  He  justified  his  inconsistency  to  his  wife, 
in  order  perhaps,  the  more  thoroughly  to  justify  it 
to  himself,  by  saying  that  he  had  long  felt  La- 
vinia's  position  keenly. 

"If  the  strain  has  been  to  her  anything  like 
what  it  has  been  to  me,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  "they 
could  not  have  endured  it  much  longer." 

"It  will  be  lonely  here  without  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Blair,  pensively. 

"Yes,"  the  judge  assented,  and  then  after  a  mo- 
ment's thought  he  added: 

"But  we  can  now  begin  to  worry  about  Connie." 

"Don't  you  dare  mention  that,  William!"  said 
Mrs.  Blair,  almost  viciously.  "She  mustn't  begin 
to  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"But  she's  in  long  dresses  now,  and  she  seems 
to  walk  home  more  and  more  slowly  every  night 
with  those  boys  from  the  High  School." 

"Well,  I  don't  propose  to  go  through  such  an 
experience  as  we  have  had  for  these  last  three 
years,  not  right  away,  at  any  rate." 

3« 


THE  HAPPY  AVEKAGE 

The  judge  tried  to  laugh,  as  he  said : 

"Well,  I'll  turn  Connie  over  to  you;  I'm  going 
to  have  a  little  peace  now." 

The  judge  complained  that  he  could  find  no 
peace,  however,  anywhere,  so  great  was  the  prepa- 
ration that  raged  thereafter  in  the  house,  driving 
him  with  his  book  and  cigar  from  place  to  place. 
Mrs.  Blair  and  Lavinia  and  Connie  were  in  fine 
excitement  over  the  gowns  that  were  being  fash- 
ioned, and  Miss  E-yan  lived  at  the  Blairs'  for 
weeks,  while  in  every  room  there  were  billowy 
clouds  of  white  garments,  and  threads  and  ravel- 
ings  over  all  the  floors. 

Meanwhile  it  was  understood  that  Marley,  too, 
was  making  arrangements  in  Chicago.  He  had 
leased  a  small  flat  on  the  South  Side,  and  had  ar- 
ranged with  Weston  to  remove  most  of  the  furni- 
ture of  their  apartment  into  the  new  home  where 
the  lovers  were  to  set  up  housekeeping.  Mrs. 
Marley  was  to  spare  them  some  of  the  things  from 
her  home,  and  Mrs.  Blair,  from  time  to  time,  desig- 
nated certain  articles  which  she  was  willing  to  de- 
vote to  the  cause.    Chad's  contribution  was  merely 


342 


AT  LAST 

a  suggestion ;  lie  said  they  could  depend  on  the  wed- 
ding presents  to  fill  up  the  gaps. 

They  were  married  in  the  middle  of  June.  The 
ceremony  was  pronounced  by  Doctor  Marley  in 
the  parlor  of  the  Blair  home;  everybody  bore  up 
well  until,  under  tlie  stress  of  bis  emotion,  the 
doctor's  voice  broke,  and  then  Mrs.  Blair  wept  and 
the  judge  wiped  bis  eyes  and  his  reddened,  an- 
guisbed  face.  Mrs.  Marley  cried  too,  though  every 
one  tried  to  comfort  her  with  the  assurance  that 
she  was  not  losing  a  son,  but  gaining  a  daughter. 
Connie,  in  her  first  long  gown,  acted  as  maid 
for  her  sister,  but  it  was  evident  that  she  was 
desperately  impressed  by  the  young  author  of  The 
Clutch  of  Circumstance,  who  had  come  on  from 
Cbicago  to  act  as  groomsman. 

The  company  that  bad  been  invited  was  as 
much  impressed  by  Weston  as  Connie  was; 
tbey  Had  never  had  an  author  in  Macochee  before, 
and  thougb  most  of  them  had  such  confused  no- 
tions of  Weston's  performances  in  literature  that 
they  grew  cold  with  fear  when  they  talked  with 
him,  they  nevertheless  braved  it  out  for  the  sake  of 
an  experience  they  could  boast  of  afterward.    Most 

34a 


THE  HAPPY  AVEEAGE 

of  them  took  refuge  in  a  discussion  of  Marley's 
achievements  with  him,  and  they  gave  him  the 
unflattering  impression  that  Marley's  work  was  as 
important  as  his  own. 

Many  of  them  had  plots  they  wished  him  to  use 
in  his  stories,  others  wished  to  know  if  he 
took  his  characters  from  real  life ;  and  Mrs.  Car- 
ter was  of  such  an  acuteness  that  she  identified 
Marley  as  his  hero,  though  Weston  had  tried  to 
keep  his  book  from  having  any  hero.  George 
Halliday,  however,  was  able  to  save  the  day;  he 
could  discriminate;  he  had  read  The  Clutch  of 
Circumstance,  having  borrowed  Lavinia's  auto- 
graph copy,  and  he  told  Weston  that  while  he  did 
not  go  in  for  realism,  because  it  was  too  photo- 
graphic, too  materialistic  and  lacked  personality, 
he  nevertheless  had  enjoyed  a  pleasant  half-hour 
with  the  volume,  and  considered  it  not  half-bad. 

This  conversation  was  held  in  plain  hearing  of 
all  in  that  difficult  moment  after  the  ceremonyj 
when  the  relatives  of  the  bride  had  solemnly  kissed 
her,  and  her  most  intimate  friends,  like  Mayme 
Carter,  had  wept  on  her  neck.  The  people  were 
standing  helplessly  about;  Marley  noticed  Wade 

344 


AT  LAST 

Powell,  as  dignified  as  a  clergyman,  in  his  black 
garments  and  white  tie  standing  apart  with  his 
wife. 

Marley  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Powell  before,  but 
he  recalled  in  a  flash  that  she  filled  his  concep- 
tion of  her;  and  this  delicate,  sensitive  little  face 
completed  the  picture  he  remembered  long  ago  to 
have  formed.  When  he  saw  Powell  standing  there, 
his  hands  behind  him,  unequal  to  the  ordeal  of 
being  entertained  in  Judge  Blair's  house,  bowing 
stiffly  and  forcing  a  smile  on  the  few  occasions  when 
he  was  spoken  to  or  thought  he  was  being  spoken 
to,  he  had  a  wish  to  go  to  him,  but  he  could  not 
then  leave  his  place  by  Lavinia's  side.  He  was  glad 
a  moment  later  when  he  saw  his  father  and  Wade 
Powell  in  conversation,  and  as  he  and  Lavinia 
passed  them  on  their  way  out  to  the  dining-room 
he  heard  his  father  say: 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Powell,  when  I  was 
young  my  creed  was  founded  on  the  fact  of  sin  in 
man;  but  now  that  I  am  old,  I  find  it  more  and 
more  founded  on  the  fact  of  the  good  that  is  in  all 
of  them." 

When  the  supper  was  oveT,  Lawrence  gave  thei 

345 


THE  HAPPY  AVEBAGE 

cheer  that  every  one  wished  to  see  come  to  the 
wedding  by  clearing  the  parlor  for  a  dance,  and 
Marley  was  glad  that  his  position  now  permitted 
him  to  refrain  from  dancing  with  a  valid  excuse. 

Marley  thought  that  Lavinia  never  looked  so 
pretty  as  she  did  when  she  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs  after  she  had  donned  her  blue  traveling 
gown,  drawing  on  her  gloves  and  waiting  for  the 
carriage  that  was  to  drive  them  to  the  station. 
Her  face  was  rosy  in  the  light  that  filled  the  house, 
and  she  met  his  eyes  with  a  fond,  contented  glance. 

"Are  you  happy  ?"  he  asked. 

"Don't  you  see?"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him. 

"And  will  you  be  happy  in  that  big  city,  away 
from  every  one  you  know,  as  the  wife  of  a  news- 
paper man  V 

"I  shall  be  happy  anywhere  with  you." 

"Our  dreams  are  coming  true,"  Marley  said, 
"after  a  fashion.  And  yet  not  just  as  we  dreamed 
them,  after  all." 

"In  all  the  essentials  they  are,  aren't  they  ?" 

"Yes,  but  you  know  our  dream  was  that  I  was  to 
practise  law." 

"Well,  we  still  have  that  dream." 

346 


AT  LAST 

"Yes,  we  still  have  it ;  maybe  it  will  come  true. 
Weston  says  that  our  dreams  are  as  much  realities 
in  our  lives  as  anything  else/' 


THB  END. 


347 


A  LIST  of  IMPORTANT  FICTION 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


AN  ANGEL   OF   THE   TEXAS   PLAINS 


HULDAH 

Proprietor  of  the  Wagon-Tire  House  and  Genial 
Philosopher  of  the  Cattle  Country 

By  ALICE  MacGOWAN 

and 

GRACE  MacGOWAN  COOKE 


A  book  that  will  brighten  your  hope,  broaden 
your  charity,  and  keep  you  mellow  with  its  humor. 

Minneapolis  Journal 

It  is  cram  full  of  human  nature.  There  is  nobody 
Kke  Aunt  Huldah  in  any  other  book,  and  it  is  a  good 
thing  that  she  got  into  this  one.       Washington  Times 

The  book  with  its  western  breezes,  homely  phi- 
losophy, queer  characters  and  big  hearts,  is  almost 
as  exhilarating  as  the  heroine  must  have  been  herself. 

Baltimore  Herald 

Aunt  Huldah  is  the  kind  of  a  woman  loved  by 
the  whole  world,  and  the  novel  is  the  most  attractive 
since  the  days  of  David  Harum.     Indianapolis  Star 

izmo,  cloth,  price,  ;^i.5o 


The  Bobbs-Mcrrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


THE  LIFE  AND  LOVES  OF  LORD  BYRON 

THE 
CASTAWAY 


•*  Three  great  men  ruined  in  one  year — a  king,  a  cad  and  a 
castaway. '  * — Byron. 

By  HALLIE  ERMINIE  RIVES 

Author  of  Hearts  Courageous 


Lord  Byron's  personal  beauty,  liis  brilliancy,  his 
genius,  his  possession  of  a  title,  his  love  affairs,  his 
death  in  a  noble  cause,  all  make  him  the  most  mag- 
netic figure  in  English  literature.  In  Miss  Rives' s 
novel  the  incidents  of  his  career  stand  out  in  ab- 
sorbing power  and  enthralling  force. 

The  most  profoundly  sympathetic,  vivid  and  true 
portrait  of  Byron  ever  drawn. 
Calvin  Dill  Wilson,  author  oi  Byron — Man  and  Poet 

Dramatic  scenes,  thrilling  incidents,  strenuous 
events  follow  one  another;  pathos,  revenge  and 
passion;  a  strong  love;  and  through  all  these,  under 
all  these,  is  the  poet,  the  man,  George  Gordon. 

Grand  Rapids  Herald 

With  eight  illustrations  in  color  by 

Howard  Chandler  Christy 

1 2mo,  cloth,  price,  ;^  i .  oo  everywhere 

The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


ANIMAL  FOLK  TALES  OF  THE  SOUTH 

AT  THE 
BIG  HOUSE 

Where  Aunt  Nancy  and  Aunt  'Phrony  Held  Forth 
on  the  Animal  Folks 

By  ANNE  VIRGINIA  CULBERTSON 


The  book  is  a  valuable  addition  to  folk-lore.  There 
is  little  doubt  that  it  will  be  warmly  admired  by  chil- 
dren too,  which,  to  my  notion  is  a  great  matter. 

George  W.  Cable 

At  the  Big  House  has  carried  me  back  to  old  times 
by  a  most  delightful  road.  It  is  a  charming  book. 
There  is  a  color  about  it,  an  atmosphere,  a  delicate 
touch.  The  truth  is  that  only  a  woman  of  great 
sensibility  can  write  stories  for  children  as  they  should 
be  written — as,  in  fact.  Miss  Culbertson  has  written 
them.   The  book  should  be  a  most  substantial  success. 

Joel  Chandler  Harris 

The  stories  are  of  the  sort  that  Uncle  Remus  would 
have  been  glad  to  tell  if  they  had  been  **ketched  in 
de  cornders  of  his  '  memb'  ance. ' '      Atlanta  Journal 

With  thirty-two  illustrations,  sixteen  in  color,  by 

E.WardeBlaisdell. 

1 2mo,  cloth,  price,  ;^  i .  50 

The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE   DOLLAR   MARK 


THE  COST 


By  DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 

Author  of  Golden  Fleece 


A  masterly  novel,  interesting  to  the  point  of  fas- 
cination, analytic  to  the  point  of  keenness,  thor- 
oughly well  written  with  complete  understanding, 
and  entirely  committed  to  advocacy  of  the  best  things 
in  life.  Wallace  Rice  in  Chicago  Examiner 

Rapid  and  vivid,  sure  and  keen,  light  and  graceful. 

New  York  Times 

It  is  a  story  full  of  virile  impulse.  It  treats  of  men 
of  hardy  endeavor,  batthng  for  leadership  in  the  world 
of  commerce  and  politics.  If  you  want  a  novel  that 
is  intensely  modern  and  intensely  full  of  speed  and 
spirit,  you  have  it  in  The  Cost. 

Bailey  Millard  in  San  Francisco  Examiner. 


With  sixteen  illustrations  by  Harrison  Fisher 
izmo,  cloth,  price,  ^1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  BOOK  TO  MAKE  THE  SPHINX  LAUGH 

IN  THE  BISHOP'S 
CARRIAGE 

By  MIRIAM  MICHELSON 


From  the  moment  when,  in  another  girl's  chin- 
chilla coat,  Nance  Olden  jumps  into  the  unknown 
carriage,  and,  snuggling  up  to  the  solemn  owner, 
calls  him  * 'Daddy, "  till  she  makes  her  final  bow, 
a  happy  wife  and  a  triumphant  actress,  she  holds 
your  fancy  captive  and  your  heart  in  thrall. 

If  jaded  novel  readers  want  a  new  sensation,  they 
will  get  it  here.  Chicago  Tribune 

For  genuine,  unaffected  enjoyment,  read  the  ad- 
ventures of  this  dashing  desperado  in  petticoats. 

Philadelphia  Item 

It  is  beguiling,  bewitching,  bristling  with  origi- 
nality ;  light  enough  for  the  laziest  invalid  to  rest  his 
brain  over,  profound  enough  to  serve  as  a  sermon 
to  the  humanitarian.  San  Francisco  Bulletin 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher 
1 2mo,  cloth,  price,  $1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


For  the  man  who  can  rejoice  at  a  book  that  is  not  trivial, 
For  the  man  who  feels  the  power  of  Egypt's  marvelous  past; 
For  the  man  who  is  stirred  at  heart  by  the  great  scenes  of 

the  Bible; 
For  the  man  who  likes  a  story  and  knows  when  it  is  good. 


THE  YOKE 

A  Romance  of  the  Days  when  the  Lord  Redeemed 

the  Children  of  Israel  from  the 

Bondage  of  Egypt 


A  theme  that  captures  the  imagination:  Israel's 
deliverance  from  Egypt. 

Characters  famous  for  all  time :  Moses,  the 
Pharaoh,  Prince  Rameses. 

Scenes  of  natural  and  supernatural  power;  the 
finding  ot  the  signet,  the  turning  of  the  Nile  into 
blood,  the  passage  of  the  Red  Sea. 

A  background  of  brilliant  color:  the  rich  and 
varied  life  of  Thebes  and  Memphis. 

A  plot  of  intricate  interest:  a  love  story  of 
enduring  beauty.    Such  is  "The  Yoke." 

Ornamental  cloth  binding.     626  pages 
Price  $1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


THE  MOST  INTERESTING  MAGAZINE 
PUBLISHED 


THE  READER 
MAGAZINE 


THE  READER  MAGAZINE  covers  the  whole 
field.  It  presents  politics,  great  business  and  social 
enterprises,  and  current  events  of  national  importance, 
with  candor  and  appreciation.  It  gives  fiction  that 
is  varied  and  original  and  verse  that  is  worth  read- 
ing, and  it  is  besides  a  guide  to  the  best  literature 
of  the  day.  It  is  not  a  periodical  of  protest  or  smart- 
ness, but  a  magazine  that  stands  for  energy,  honesty 
and  accomplishment.  THE  READER  radiates  the 
spirit  of  confident  Americanism. 


An  illustrated  monthly  magazine 

worth  reading  and  worth  keeping 

Price,  ^  3 .  o  o  per  year 


The  Bobbs-Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


14  DAY  USE 

RJBTURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  of 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


W0Vl0t965  3  5 


1H  STACKS 


CCT£719bt 


REC'D  LP 


JAN    7'6C-4PM 


LD  2lA-60m-3,'65 
(F2336sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


412093 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


